You Take the Good, You Take the Bad
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: You take them both, and then you have the facts of life.:: Collection of drabbles and oneshots about different characters.::.. 9. A game of chess secures Rabastan a date. 10. Bill is nervous before starting Hogwarts, and a visit from Charlie doesn't help.
1. Lyall Lupin

_For the One a Week Competition (week one: 100 words, Lyall Lupin)_

* * *

"Do you still love me?"

Lyall takes a deep breath, pretending that his son's question doesn't shatter his heart into a million pieces. He doesn't have to ask where the sudden concern comes from. Remus is too young to understand the attack. He can only carry the scars and the pain.

He scoops his son into his arms, ruffling his hair. "Of course, son. Always."

"Even if I look funny?"

"Funny? Oh. Got a bit of dirt on your face from playing. Makes you look silly."

"Daddy!"

"You're my son. I will love you no matter what," Lyall says gently.

"Even if-"

"No matter what."

Remus softens. "Okay!" he beams.

Lyall only hopes that it will always be this easy.


	2. Gemma Farley

_For the One a Week Competition (200 words)_

* * *

"Don't you ever get tired of your prefect duty?" Marcus asks dryly.

Gemma rolls her eyes and stands at full height. It isn't a particularly impressive sight sense he's a head taller, but she feels more in control. "Some of us have better things to do than try and figure out new ways to sabotage Oliver Wood," she quips. "Really, your obsession with him is almost romantic."

She supposes she shouldn't enjoy the way his anger twists his lips, but it's too fun. So few would dare talk to him this way.

"Romantic? Hardly. I have much better tastes than that," he says, his eyes wandering up and down her body.

Gemma exhales deeply, resisting the urge to smile. One day, she will give into him. One day, she will get tired of her own games and let him finally win.

"Who? Montague? Hardly a step up from Wood," she teases, chuckling at the way he sputters as a deep red creeps into his cheeks.

"I hate you."

"You don't," she says with a smirk as she pushes past him. "Excuse me. I have things to do."

One day, she'll tell him the truth. But not now. Not today.


	3. Petunia Dursley

_For the One a Week Competition (week 3, 300 words, Petunia Dursley)_

* * *

She doesn't tell Vernon where she is. He would laugh at the thought and call her foolish. After all, Vernon was happy to wash his hands of the boy. Maybe Petunia was too, in a way, but now she finds herself alone in the back of the chapel as Harry stands at the altar.

When his bride walks down the aisle, Petunia forgets how to breathe. A twinge of guilt tears at her insides as she notices the red hair on the young woman. Lily's hair was darker, but Petunia can't help but to see her sister in the stranger. Harry's resemblance to his father makes it even more unnerving.

She should have been at her sister's wedding all those years ago. She had considered it, but, in the end, she had thrown the invitation in the fireplace, her final act of severing all ties with Lily.

She regret it later, of course. It took years, but her bitterness melted away, and she found herself wishing she could have had one last moment with her sister. She doesn't know if witches have the same sort of afterlife that regular people do, but she can't help but to think that Lily is smiling down on her, laughing about silly, stubborn Tuney finally coming around.

…

"I'm surprised you came," Harry says as she tries to slip away unnoticed.

Petunia takes a deep breath. It's been years since she has spoken to the boy, and she doesn't quite know how to approach him now. She offers him a shaky smile. "I owed it to your mother."

She starts to walk away, but Harry catches her by the hand. "Stay. Ginny is going to dance with her father. I know we didn't have the best relationship, but maybe you could stand in for my mum."

Petunia blinks rapidly, trying to ignore the tears stinging her eyes. "I would be honored."


	4. Hannah Abbott

_For the One a Week Challenge (week 4, Hannah Abbot, 400 words)_

* * *

"I think that I want to go back to school," Hannah says.

Her husband looks up from the essays that litter his desk, a small smile on his lips. "Really?" Neville asks. "What for?"

Hannah tugs at her hair. She doesn't know why she feels so nervous. Neville is nothing but kind and supportive. She shouldn't feel so silly for sharing her dreams with him.

"I want to studying healing," she answers, the sentence coming out in a jumble. "I heard that Madam Pomfrey plans to retire soon. I do miss Hogwarts. My mum was a Healer before…" She clears her throat, trailing off. "I know that she would be proud of me no matter what. But I want to follow in her footsteps."

Neville abandons his essays and climbs to his feet. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close. "I think it's a marvelous idea."

…

It takes only a month before Hannah feels that she's in over her head. She hovers over her books, summoning another pot of coffee to her table, grateful that Neville is looking over the pub while she studies.

"Too much caffeine isn't good for you," he says gently when he makes his way back to her. "Have you slept at all today?"

"I can't sleep. I have to learn this," she grumbles, reaching for the pot so she can pour herself a fresh cup.

Neville catches her hand, shaking his head. "You need rest. You have plenty of time to study, Hannah. Go on. Get some sleep."

She sighs. Really, she's been so hard on herself lately. Maybe Neville is right. A little rest will clear her head. "Fine. But I'm not happy about it."

"Of course not. Bed. Go," he instructs before kissing her cheek. "I'll be up shortly. I love you."

…

It feels almost surreal when her final exams end and she's certified. Hannah doesn't know if she wants to laugh or cry from relief.

Neville stands at her side, holding her hand. "I'm so proud of you," he says.

"Now I can actually sleep," she laughs.

…

"Anything exciting?" Neville asks, entering the hospital wing.

"One broken arm, a burned leg, and what a girl insisted were circular bruises on her neck that she says she can't explain."

Neville snorts. "Interesting first day."

She wraps her arms around him with sigh. "Very. Let's go home."


	5. Horace Slughorn

_For the One a Week Competition (week 5, 500 words)_

* * *

Horace takes a deep breath. This is the moment he has dreaded since Albus pulled him out of retirement the year before. Laying low and remaining neutral is no longer an option.

He watches the exodus of students, his heart breaking. Hogwarts is supposed to be a safe place. This past year has proven otherwise. How many of those children have suffered at the hands of the Carrows? How many will carry scars? How many will still wake up years later, clutched in the throes of nightmares from their time here?

He has an obligation to them. He has failed more times than he can count, but this is his chance to make things right. He can stay and fight.

And yet, there's a nagging in his mind. He is a Slytherin, after all. He isn't a hero, and the prospect of sacrificing himself doesn't exactly appeal to him. He should be more concerned with saving himself, joining the students, and rushing to safety.

"Coward," he whispers to himself with a laugh.

But hasn't he always been? Hadn't he gone into hiding, so afraid being forced into this very situation?

"Have you made your decision, Horace?" Minerva asks impatiently.

Horace wishes that he could ask for her guidance, but he can't. Minerva has far too much on her mind right now. She hardly has time to waste on an indecisive old fool.

"How many of our old students will we face?" he muses. "All those lives we helped to shape…"

She clears her throat. He can see the pain flash through her eyes. She's considered this as well. "Your answer, Horace?" she presses, her tone gentler this time.

He inhales deeply, massaging his temples. Can he do this? Is he willing to throw himself into the chaos, facing students he once had such high hopes for?

He almost laughs. Never has he ever been faced with such a hopeless situation in his life. If he runs, he marks himself as a coward. His House remains under that terrible shadow that has lingered over it for so long. If he fights, he could die. Worse still, he could kill.

"Damned if I do, damned if I don't."

"Horace…" The impatience has returned to her voice now.

Horace clears his throat. Once again, his eyes scan the fleeing children. He wonders how many Slytherins have stayed behind to fight. Very few, if any. Should the Dark Lord fall, his House will be remembered as the one that refused to stay.

"I'll fight, Minerva," he says at last.

There's a smile on her lips, but it doesn't reach her eyes. His decision is hardly anything to celebrate. He's one extra fighter, but he's also one more person who may not see the end of this war tonight.

"Are we doing the right thing?" he asks.

Minerva rests a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We are," she says. "We're making our stand, Horace. That should be enough."

"For all our sakes, let's hope that it is."


	6. Salazar Slytherin

"What's this?" Salazar barks as the innkeeper's son places an envelope in front of him.

"Dunno, sir. It's only just arrived," the boy says, and Salazar detects a hint of irritation in his voice.

With a shrug, Salazar slips him a gold coin. It's been so long since anyone so young has spoken to him like that. Not for the first time, his heart years for Hogwarts and the troublesome children that roamed its corridors.

When the boy disappears, Salazar examines the envelope. He immediately recognizes Rowena's elegant calligraphy. The eagle on the wax seal only confirms it.

Truthfully, he had hoped she would be the one that reached out to him. He'd always assumed it would sweet, kindhearted Helga, but his mind was set on Rowena.

He smirks, satisfied. It shouldn't be surprising that she would find a way get a letter to him, that she would want to contact him. After their time together in her chambers, he's only surprised that it has taken her nearly a year. She should have asked him to come back for more ages ago.

Salazar opens the envelope, pulling out the letter.

 _Dearest Salazar,_

 _Allow me to begin this letter by informing you that you are an utterly selfish bastard._

Salazar raises his brows. It isn't the most promising start, but he can assume that the begging will begin after another paragraph or two.

 _What you did was completely irresponsible. Have you forgotten that you have a duty to these children? We all swore that we would teach the next generation of witches and wizards. How could you just abandon them? Was a fight with Godric really worth this?_

 _I want to be bitter. However, I know how foolish it would be to say that you should have stayed for me._

A grin tugs at his lips. "Here we go," he muses to himself, taking a swig of ale. Even proud Rowena isn't afraid to beg. His eyes hungrily move over the next line.

 _I am not some giggling maiden who thinks that encounters like ours mean something substantial. Do not let your ego swell, Salazar. You were not so wonderful that I am writing to ask for you to return so that we may resume our escapades._

Admittedly, that hurts. Salazar scowls at the letter. Of course Rowena would say such a thing. Her words have always been her deadliest weapon. She knows exactly which words to string together to leave the most painful sting.

 _However, I feel that you should know that you left me something when you departed._

He feels a flicker of panic. Surely Rowena hasn't found out about his chamber. He would have heard news of an attack by now. Besides, as far as he knows, Rowena does not possess the ability to access his final secret.

 _She is two months old now. I named her Helena. Godric and Helga believe my story, that she is the product of an encounter in a pub. I am happy for them to continue believing that until the end. But I wish for you to know the truth. I am reminded of you whenever I look at her. She resembles me so much, but her eyes… Helena has her father's eyes._

 _This is not my plea for you to be in your daughter's life. Truthfully, with your views on certain matters, I think that it is best that she never know you. I merely feel that you should know what you've left behind._

 _Regards,_

 _Rowena Ravenclaw_

Salazar grips the letter in his hand, shaking. Emotions flood him, but he fights them. He cannot show weakness now.

With a growl, he tosses the parchment into the fireplace, watching it turn to ash.


	7. Cedrella Black

_For the One a Week Competition (Cedrella, 700 words)_

* * *

 _She trembles, heart racing. His father's eyes are dark, stormy as understanding dawns on him._

" _No daughter of mine will marry a Weasley! Do you hear me?"_

Cedrella still trembles as she nears the field just outside Septimus' home. She could have used magic to travel, but her mind is a storm of chaos, even now. She would have gotten herself splinched in a heartbeat.

One foot in front of the other. She winces. Her feet are sore from the journey, and she can feel blisters threatening to break the surface. Still, she walks on. She is close. Her safe haven is waiting for her.

 _Her mother turns away quickly. Cedrella has the sneaking suspicion that tears are in her eyes. Tears. A sign of weakness. Something her mother would never allow her father to see._

" _Do you see what you're doing to your mother, girl?" her father snarls, taking a step closer, his fingers curling inward to form fists. "Do you realize the shame you're bringing on your family?"_

 _Cedrella keeps her head held high. She will not back down, not this time. She is older, stronger, and she will not let him control her anymore._

Tears fall from her eyes. Cedrella doesn't bother to wipe them away. She's free now. She can finally let herself embrace her emotions without fear or shame.

A smile tugs at her lips. Another step, then another. Septimus is waiting for her, and her past is so far behind her now.

 _Her father's face softens. "Be reasonable, Cedrella. You were always such a clever girl," he pleads, taking her by the hand. "Stop this foolishness. We can sweep it all under the rug and pretend it never happened. Won't that be lovely?"_

 _She almost hesitates. Her father hasn't spoken so gently to her since she was a little girl. Part of her wants to believe that he's sincere, that this isn't some mask that he's wearing to persuade her. Cedrella wants to believe that her father will be the man that she looked up to when she was little._

 _But she can see the darkness that still lingers in his eyes. If she stays, he will marry her off to someone just as cruel as he is._

 _She pulls her hand away. "I will not change my mind, Father."_

Septimus. Septimus is gentle. He never shouts the way her father does. He never raises his fists, threatening her without saying a word.

Septimus is good and kind, and he is waiting for her.

This thought causes her to move faster. Her feet burn and ache in protest, but she ignores the pain. She has to reach him. She's come this far.

 _His fist strikes against her cheek, and Cedrella almost falls to the floor. She pulls away quickly, rubbing her stinging face, eyes narrowing at her father._

" _I will not give him up," she says coldly._

 _Her father scoffs and takes a menacing step closer. Cedrella backs away out of fearful habit. She is all too familiar with the way he expresses his displeasure. Her mother taught her at such a young age which potions work best to fade the bruises._

" _You are making a grave mistake, Cedrella," he says sharply. "What can this man offer you? The Weasleys have no gold, no status."_

" _He loves me."_

 _He laughs. "Love? Will love keep you fed? Will love buy you the nice dresses that you've grown accustomed to?"_

Cedrella feels as though she might collapse when she finally crosses the field. Her cheek stings, joining her feet in causing her pain, but she ignores it.

"Septimus!" she cries.

She is still far from the house, and she doubts he will hear her, but it's the first glimmer of hope that she has felt all day. "Septimus!"

" _You are a Black, and you will behave as one!"_

 _She has grown tired of the argument. She had hoped to get her things, but they no longer matter. "In a fortnight, I will be a Weasley."_

"Cedrella?"

Septimus appears in the doorway, his illuminated wand in hand. He rushes toward her, arms outstretched. "You should have written so I'd know you were coming tonight."

She clings to him, smiling. "Doesn't matter now. I'm home."


	8. Dennis Creevey

" _What are you doing? We're supposed to be leaving?"_

 _His older brother grins at him. "I'm gonna fight, Den," Colin says proudly. "I'm going back."_

" _But you aren't seventeen!"_

 _Dennis' reminder falls upon deaf ears. Colin has made up his mind, and there's no talking him out of it now._

Kingsley Shacklebolt stands before him, and Dennis wants to run away. He knows that look too well. His father wore it when he told Dennis and Colin that their mother was dead.

If runs now, he doesn't have to hear the news. He can escape, and everything will be okay. It'll be just like their time on the run, only they've been split up.

"Dennis Creevey," Kingsley says gently.

" _I could go with you!" Dennis insists. "Me and you, Col, we could team up! Remember those Snatchers outside of Dublin?"_

 _His brother shakes his head, and Dennis deflates slightly._

 _They're supposed to be inseparable, always together. Even the few brief years when Colin was at Hogwarts without him was too much._

" _You can't, Dennis. Someone has to go home, just in case…"_

 _Colin doesn't finish the sentence. Dennis is grateful. He doesn't want to think about that possible outcome._

Dennis closes his eyes, breathing in deeply. The air sounds shaky as it enters his lungs. It takes several moments for him to realize that it's because his body is trembling.

"Your brother was a hero," Kingsley says.

" _Dad will be happy when we come home," Dennis says._

 _Colin smiles and ruffles his little brother's hair. "I bet he'll let us stay up until midnight watching telly," he laughs._

" _Later than that when he learns that his son played the hero," Dennis insists._

 _He doesn't want to notice the pain in his brother's eyes. If he sees Colin on the verge of breaking down, Dennis will crumble too._

Dennis wishes he could hate Kingsley. Over the past few hours, he's probably had to say those words to countless people who have lost loved ones in this stupid war. He doesn't mean them. He just says whatever he's supposed to.

But he can hear the genuine emotion in the new Minister for Magic's voice, real pain. He wonders if Kingsley had to see the body. It must have hurt. After all, even at sixteen, Colin was small for his age, as though he was still a child.

"He was always my hero," Dennis whispers.

" _You be good, okay?" Colin says, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "Be good. Tell Dad I love him. Show him the pictures I took when we were on the run."_

 _Dennis feels his chest ache. This sounds too much like goodbye, like he's never going to see his brother again. He forces a smile. "You can show him, Colin," he says. "Don't be stupid. You don't need me to do that for you."_

 _Colin removes the camera from around his neck. The gesture, so small and simple, feels like a punch to Dennis' stomach. He leans against the wall, trying to make his lungs work again._

" _Just in case, Den," Colin says. "That's all."_

 _Dennis holds the camera in trembling hands. Why does it feel so heavy to him now?_

"We've located your father," Kingsley tells him, resting a strong, comforting hand on his shoulder. "If you want me to wait with you until he gets close, I can."

Dennis shakes his head. He's never liked being alone, but he doesn't want company now. He tugs at the strap of the camera around his neck, swallowing dryly. He wishes he could see the photos now. He could go and see Colin's body of course, but that isn't how he wants to remember his brother. Colin was always so happy, so full of life.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know," Kingsley assures him, and Dennis is surprised to see how hesitant he is before moving along.

" _Go on," Colin says. "You'd better leave. You can't be here when it starts, Den. If anything happens to you…"_

 _Dennis wants to argue. He wants to counter him with_ No, if anything happens to you…

 _But he doesn't protest. Dennis has grown up so much over the past year. Maybe too much, too fast. He barely needs Colin to guide him anymore. The least he can do is let his brother keep him safe this time._

 _Dennis hugs his brother. "Come back to me. Promise me."_

 _As he pulls away, Colin shakes his head. "Promises are dangerous during a war, Den."_

As Dennis sits on a bench outside the Hog's Head, just a boy with a camera, the tears finally overflow his eyes.

At least Colin didn't promise him.


	9. Rabastan Lestrange

Rabastan watches, smirking as his rook destroys Andromeda's king. "Checkmate," he says proudly, clapping his hands together. "I do believe you owe me a date now."

Andromeda rolls her eyes. "I didn't agree to your terms," she points out.

Rabastan shrugs. It's true enough. She had simply waved his words away. But, to be fair, she didn't reject his terms either. "Only because you didn't think I'd win," he says. "What's the point in agreeing when you're so sure you're going to kick my ass?"

Andromeda leans back in her chair. With a wave of her wand, she repairs the pieces. Rabastan expects her to request a rematch, but she simply climbs to her feet. "I didn't agree. You won. That's all."

Rabastan sighs, standing. "One date, Andi. I won't even make you pay, even if you're the loser."

"Are you my punishment for losing?" she teases, prodding her finger gently in his chest.

"One date," he repeats. "All I'm asking."

She goes quiet at that, her lips pursing. Rabastan tries not to laugh. She's actually considering it. Really, it's a miracle. "You promise you'll shut up if I agree?"

"A date with no talking? Sounds pretty boring, if you ask me."

"Not on the date. I'll humor you just once. _Once._ And you'll quit pursuing me."

Rabastan considers. It's the most progress he's made in three years. For one brief moment, he will be able to be more than just the friend who loves her. He will be the boy with a chance. "Deal. Unless, of course, you realize how wonderful I am and decide to see me again."

With a laugh, she pats his cheek. "Keep dreaming, Rabastan."

"Oh. I do dream," he assures her. "Of you. What are the odds I can get you to wear something silk and skimpy?"

Groaning, she walks away. Rabastan smiles to himself. The fact that she didn't slap him is proof enough that he's made progress.

…

"Where are we going?" she hisses. "We shouldn't be out of bed!"

Rabastan smirks. "You owe me a date," he reminds her.

Andromeda groans but doesn't protest. "Yeah. So? I figured you'd just take me out for butterbeer on the next Hogsmeade weekend."

"Boring. It's my one chance. I have to make it count."

He did consider Hogsmeade. After all, he and Andromeda have sat by the fire and sipped butterbeer as friends more times than he can count. But he has to do something amazing. If he wants Andromeda to realize how serious he is, he has to prove himself.

He's shaking from nerves by the time they reach the Astronomy Tower. This was a good choice, he decides. Andromeda looks absolutely stunning bathed in starlight. "Well," he says, moving to the spot where he'd hidden his supplies during the day, "here we are."

He wishes his hands didn't tremble so badly. He wants to be cool and calm for Andromeda. "I have wine, cheese, and strawberries," he continues, retrieving the basket and sitting on the ground.

"Where did you get wine?" Andromeda asks, brows raised.

With a laugh, Rabastan presses his finger to his lips, offering her a wink. "I can't give all my secrets away, Andi," he teases before turning his attention to the glasses and pouring generous servings of wine. "To us, and the beautiful relationship that we can have."

"I told you it was just one date."

"You did. And I made it count. Who else loves you enough to go out of their way to give you such a memorable evening?" he asks, setting the wine in front of her and nibbling a slice of cheese. "I could have just taken you out for butterbeer and called it a date. But you're special to me, and I wanted to give you something special."

Rabastan swallows dryly. He didn't mean to be so open. Andromeda must think that he's a fool for opening his heart like that.

By some miracle, however, she smiles before sipping her wine. "Special?" she echoes.

"To me, you're the most special person I've ever known. Why do you think I'm still trying to impress you?"

"Pure stubbornness," she suggests.

Rabastan snorts. "Yeah. There's that. But mostly because I care about you more than I should."

Andromeda turns away, but Rabastan catches her lips turning into a smile. "Even though I never showed any interest in you?"

Rabastan sighs. "I know. I must seem like an idiot."

"Yeah. Girls don't usually like blokes pursuing them like that."

"What made you change your mind?"

Andromeda returns her attention to him. Rabastan studies her, his heart fluttering. It amazes him how lovely she looks, how he never seems to tire of her beauty. "I figured I could humor you," she tells him. "One date wouldn't hurt."

"What about a second?" He hates how hopeful he sounds. Rodolphus would laugh at him for allowing himself to seem so vulnerable.

"Let's finish our first, then we can discuss that."

…

They return to the common room much later. Rabastan stands awkwardly, wanting to press the subject of another date, but afraid of being too much at once.

Andromeda breaks the tension. She leans in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips and pulling away, smiling. "Butterbeer would make a nice second date," she says.

Rabastan grins, nodding. "I'll keep that in mind. This weekend?"

"It's a date," she laughs.


	10. Bill Weasley

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Writing Club- Showtime, "Guns and Ships" ("The world will never be the same.")_

 _Roald Dahl Event: Willy or won't he room (write about Bill Weasley)_

 _Word Count: 565_

* * *

Bill groans, his eyes opening at the sudden weight on his mattress. For a moment, he expects to see sunlight filtering through his window, and he's confused to realize the room is still cloaked in darkness. "Wha-?"

"Bill," Charlie whines.

Bill blinks rapidly, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. With another groan, he sits up, ruffling his hair which is already tangled from sleep. "What's up, Charlie?" he yawns, resisting the urge to strangle his little brother. He has a big day ahead of him in the morning, and their mother had stressed repeatedly the importance of a full night of sleep.

"You're starting Hogwarts tomorrow," Charlie says.

"I know. But I'll be useless if I don't get some sleep," the older boy mutters darkly.

Charlie doesn't seem to take the hint. He shuffles closer. In the sliver of moonlight streaming in through the window, Bill can see the worry in his brother's eyes. "I don't want you to leave. The world will never be the same, Bill!"

If he had more energy, Bill might have laughed. All he can managed is soft snort. "Bit dramatic, Char," he teases quietly.

"I don't know what I'll do without you. Percy is boring and the others are too little!"

The older boy softens slightly at that. He can see Charlie's point. The two have been inseparable. He can't think of a moment when Charlie wasn't by his side. A crooked smile on his lips, Bill wraps an arm around his brother, pulling him closer. "I'll send you letters," he promises. "Plus I won't be gone the whole time! I'll be back for Christmas."

"Promise?"

Bill holds up hand, curling four of his fingers inward. "Pinky promise."

Charlie hesitates. After a moment, he nods, linking his pinky with Bill's. "'Kay."

"Then next year, you'll be at Hogwarts too," Bill says excitedly, a grin breaking out across his face.

"Yeah! I'll be at Hogwarts just like you!" Charlie agrees a little too loudly, bouncing noisily.

"Boys?"

The two freeze as their mother's sleepy tones fill the air. Bill rolls his eyes, speaking as quietly as possible. "Go back to bed, Char," he tells the younger boy. "Remember, it's not forever."

His brother throws his arms around Bill, nodding. Bill smiles, awkwardly patting Charlie's back. "See you in the morning, Bill," he says.

"See ya, Charlie."

When Charlie tiptoes out of the room, Bill settles back in his bed, his head sinking into the fluffy pillows. His eyes focus on the ceiling above, and he frowns. He's been nervous about leaving home to begin with. Charlie's visit only adds to his anxiety.

Bill forces his eyes shut. He can't think about those things now. A whole new adventure waits for him, and he'll never get to see it if he lets himself worry like this.

…

Bill lingers by the steam engine. He glances over his shoulder at his mother and siblings. Charlie smiles the broadest of them all, offering Bill two thumbs up.

Bill returns the grin, relaxing slightly. His nerves still go wild, but knowing that Charlie will be okay without him makes it easier to walk away.

He offers his family a quick salute before turning away, sucking in a deep breath in hopes of calming himself. Head high, shoulders thrown back he climbs onto the Hogwarts Express, ready for the next chapter in his life.


	11. Andromeda Black

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Writing Club, Showtime, "Schuyler Sisters" (the Black sisters)_

 _Roald Dahl Event (three piece sweets: a ball)_

 _Word Count: 562_

* * *

"Cissy," Andromeda giggles as her little sister insists on tugging and twisting her hair, "you are wasting your time, dear."

The fourteen year old narrows her eyes. "Hush!" she says sharply. "It's a ball, Andi! You know Father does this so he can find suitors."

"She's right, you know," Bellatrix adds, joining them, looking particularly irritated as she tugs at her emerald dress. Judging by the way her black curls have been pulled into an elegant knot, Andromeda assumes Narcissa has already gotten ahold of her. "I'm so glad I don't have to deal with that anymore. Rodolphus might be an idiot, but at least I don't have to entertain anymore."

Andromeda sighs and relaxes on the stool. She can't bring herself to tell her sisters the truth. It doesn't matter how many suitors are thrown her way, she's already found the man that she loves. A smile pulls at her lips as she thinks of Ted. Her father would kill her if he knew; she'll have to humor him a bit longer.

…

Andromeda watches the blurs of color as couples glide along the floor in a graceful waltz. A smile plays at her lips. One day, she and Ted will be able to dance like that.

"You look ridiculously sappy," Bellatrix notes, joining Andromeda in her corner. "Don't tell me you've become a hopeless romantic like Cissy. You're supposed to be the clever one."

Andromeda turns to her older sister. "And I thought finding a man would make you soften," she teases.

Bellatrix scowls, murder in her eyes. Andromeda involuntarily takes a step back. Since her engagement, Bellatrix has been more hostile, if that's even possible.

"The whole notion of romance is ridiculous," Bellatrix snaps. "I don't care for it, and I never will."

Andromeda almost laughs. It's amusing, really. In their own ways, she and Bellatrix are similar. Both have been raised with the notion that they must take a husband and keep their bloodline pure. Both have their own grudges against the archaic traditions their parents value so much. Only Narcissa seems to be unfazed by it.

The youngest Black sister breaks away from her dance with Lucius Malfoy and hurries over, blushing and giggling. "He said I was beautiful," she says proudly. "Isn't he a dear?"

"Men will say anything to get you into bed," Bellatrix says darkly.

Narcissa pokes her tongue out at her eldest sister before huffing. Andromeda smiles to herself. Narcissa has always been the sweet one. So young, still clinging to the belief that there's only beauty in the world. It breaks her heart to realize that her baby sister will one day become disillusioned.

"Whatever happens," Andromeda says softly, "at least we'll always have each other."

There's a strain in her voice, and she's grateful her sisters don't seem to notice it. It's a lovely thought, the sort of innocent thing Narcissa would believe. And it's a lie. Whatever love her sisters feel for her will fizzle out when they discover that she has fallen in love with a Muggleborn.

But tonight it doesn't matter. Tonight, she has her sisters at her side.

"Dance with me," Andromeda says, offering a hand to each sister.

Narcissa accepts quickly. Bellatrix hesitates but shrugs, taking Andromeda's hand.

Maybe they won't have many more nights like this, but they have this moment now; nothing else matters.


	12. Amelia Bones

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Writing Club, "History Has Its Eyes On You" (a promotion)_

 _Roald Dahl Event (Chocolate room: Write about a dream come true)_

 _Word Count: 439_

* * *

"Miss Bones?"

Amelia glances up from her paperwork, a groan in her throat which she quickly swallows back. It isn't the usual interruption from her work. Standing before her is Millicent Bagnold herself.

"Minister," she says quickly, leaping to her feet. She smooths a hand over her robes, worrying she might still have traces of crumbs on them.

Millicent smiles brightly enough that Amelia relaxes. "I actually need to have a word with you, dear," she says, gesturing for Amelia to return to her seat; Amelia obeys. "As I'm sure you've heard, there is a position open after- ahem- the Crouch debacle."

Amelia nods. Of course she's heard. Everyone in the department has heard the whispers. The Aurors that had been in the courtroom told stories of Crouch and the steel in his eyes as he'd handed down the harsh sentence to his own son- an upstanding boy who had sworn innocence from the start. "Yes," she says, shifting her attention to the paperwork on her desk, nervously moving files around to give herself something, anything to occupy her mind. "Such a shame. I don't see how anyone can replace him."

"I'd like you to."

A pile of papers slip from her hands, spilling onto the office floor. Amelia scoots her chair back quickly, bending down and hurriedly picking them up. Millicent has always limited her jokes in the workplace, and yet Amelia thinks she's made a great one now.

She's dreamt of one day reaching the ranks of Department Head. From the moment she found herself here, she's always wanted it. Now, the thought of taking Crouch's place, of filling his shoes… It doesn't matter if it's a chance at having her dearest dream realized, she's intimidated. Her heart races at the very idea of running an entire department.

And yet… Underneath the nerves, she feels a warm steadiness. She knows she can do. If Millicent Bagnold thinks she can, then there's no questioning it.

"Minister, I'm flattered," she says, sitting up straight again. "But I have to wonder… Wouldn't someone like Alastor be better suited for the position? He has more experience-"

"And he's an Auror who has no intention of changing that anytime soon," Millicent says, shaking her hand. "Not to mention, we need someone a bit less abrasive, and you fit the bill."

Amelia takes a deep breath, a broad smile creeping across her face. Her dreams have come true, and yet it all feels like a dream. It takes several moments for her to remember how to speak. Finally, she nods, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl. "I would be honored.".

"Excellent! You start Monday!"


	13. Regulus Black

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Writing Club, Showtime, "The Story of Tonight (reprise)" ("No matter what she tells you."_

 _Roald Dahl Event: dirty smirks (write about Regulus Black)_

 _Word Count: 658_

* * *

Regulus sits up when he hears his bedroom door open. He blinks back sleep, rubbing his eyes. For a moment, he expects to see his parents doing an inspection, but they haven't done that since he was ten, and a glance at his watch tells him that it's three in the morning.

"I really didn't mean to wake you," Sirius says, and Regulus is surprised to find that he actually sounds sincere. They haven't exactly seen eye to eye since Sirius' first year at Hogwarts.

"What the hell are you doing?" Regulus demands.

His older brother takes a deep breath. Regulus notices the envelope in his trembling hand. "I planned to leave you a letter," Sirius says softly. "Seemed easier than doing this in person. Guess that's what I get for making plans."

Regulus still hasn't quite woken up. He doesn't know if Sirius just doesn't make sense or if his mind is just blurry from sleepiness. "What are you on about?"

"I love you, Reggie," the older boy says. "No matter what she tells you. You'll remember that, won't you?"

Regulus understands now. His brother's brain must be malfunctioning from lack of sleep as well. It's the only explanation for why Sirius is rambling on with such confidence. Poor sod.

"I want you to be happy. I hope you realize that. I mean, you're my little brother, Reggie. It doesn't matter what's happened between us; that will never change."

"Got it, mate," Regulus yawns.

"I mean it!"

The urgency in Sirius' voice is unnerving. Regulus frowns, realizing maybe Sirius isn't just rambling like idiot now. Maybe his mind is completely clear, and this is something important. "Okay," Regulus says gently, holding his hands up in defense. "I'm sorry. It's late; I'm really not quite awake, Sirius."

Silence. Regulus' frown deepens.

"Get some sleep, Sirius."

Sirius laughs. "That would be nice."

A moment later, he's gone. Regulus stares at the door, his mind still working on figuring out what this strange encounter had been about. It only takes a few moments for his eyes to grow heavy; he gives up and sinks back into his pillows.

…

His mother screaming downstairs wakes him. Regulus lays in bed, staring at the ceiling for several moments. He loves his mother, but he tries to avoid her whenever she's in her moods.

Unfortunately, his stomach growls, demanding breakfast. Reluctantly, Regulus tosses his blanket aside and dresses quickly. Maybe he can eat in his room today. His mother hates it, but he hopes she's too angry to even notice it.

…

It takes only a second to realize that there's something missing in the dining room, and only another second to realize what it is. Sirius is noticeably absent. Even if he hides away in his room during the day, he at least suffers through meals with their parents.

"Where's Si-"

Before he can even speak his brother's name, his mother rounds on him, her eyes wild. "Don't speak that filthy traitor's name," she snaps. "Your precious brother has left us. He doesn't care about you or any of us, so why should you concern yourself with him?"

 _No matter what she tells you._

Regulus shakes his head, trying to understand. Sirius has done a lot of stupid things, but he wants to believe that even his brother isn't enough of an idiot to run away. Where would he go? He isn't of age yet, and there aren't many things he can do to support himself.

He wants to ask more questions, but his parents' eyes are filled with fire that scares him into a shocked silence. His heart sinking, he sits at the table, though his appetite has been stripped away.

 _No matter what she tells you._

He scrapes his fork over his plate, exhaling. He should have known, should have realized. If only Sirius had come to him earlier.

"I love you too," he whispers, though it's far too late.


	14. Cornelius Fudge

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Writing Club, "I Know Him" (Cornelius Fudge)_

 _Roald Dahl Event: Emperor's New Cloves (Cornelius Fudge)_

 _Word Count: 484_

"Come to gloat, Albus?" Cornelius asks bitterly when the headmaster steps into his office.

Well, at least it will be his office for another half hour. Tomorrow, Rufus will be sitting behind that desk. Tomorrow, Cornelius will be just a disgraced former Minister avoiding the public eye.

"Do you really not know me better than that, old friend?" Albus asks.

 _Friend._ After everything Cornelius has put the old man through, Albus still manages to think of him as a friend. The Minister smiles to himself. "Why are you here?" he asks.

He folds his arms over his chest, waiting grudgingly. "Friend" or not, he doesn't think he can stand to sit through one of Albus' lectures on morality or his unwanted sage advice.

"I'm here with a reminder," Albus says, his lips pulled into a smile as his blue eyes twinkle.

Cornelius rolls his eyes. Albus has always had a flare for the dramatic. He doesn't understand why the old man can't just finish the thought, why he has to leave such a great pause behind the sentence. Cornelius clears his throat, hoping to signal Albus to continue, but the headmaster simply smiles. Cornelius groans. "Remind me of what, Albus?" he asks.

"You were a brilliant Minister overall; you simply failed in the end," Albus says brightly; Cornelius balls his hands into fists. "You made mistakes. That doesn't make you a bad person."

Cornelius snorts. _Mistakes._ He'd put all of Great Britain at risk by refusing to believe the monster had returned. How can Albus refer to that as something so small as a mistake?

"There is still hope for you, if you know where to look. I'm sure you could even redeem yourself, even if it's not in the public eye."

He raises his brows. There have been whispers- all unconfirmed- that Albus leads some sort of group that opposes the Death Eaters. He wonders if that's what Albus is implying now.

The thought is terrifying. While Cornelius has always been a talented wizard, he's not much of a fighter. His dueling skills are more for bragging rights than for actual use. And yet…

And yet this could be his chance. Even if no one else knows of the things he does, he could at least ease his own conscience. Cornelius leans against his desk, head tilted to the side in thought for several moments. Finally, he nods. "As a disgraced man, I would enjoy any chance of redeeming my name."

Albus nods and turns away. "I'll be in touch, Cornelius," he says, exiting the office and closing the door behind him.

Cornelius stares at the spot his old friend had been only moments before. He wonders what he's gotten himself into. Part of him hates Albus for striding in here and making vague offers with a promise of redemption.

Most of all, however, he hates himself for how eagerly he had agreed.


	15. Peter Pettigrew

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Writing Club, "Cabinet Battle 2" ("He knows nothing of loyalty.")_

 _Word Count: 388_

* * *

Peter cringes as he carries his master along, placing him carefully in a chair. It is by far the most glamorous job, but it keeps him safe. Now that Harry and the others know the truth, he needs safety. Like that rat that he is, he has crawled back to the Dark Lord, willing to do anything for protection, even if it means caring for the pitiful shell that had once been the most powerful wizard.

"My Lord," Barty says, and though he keeps his voice clipped and polite, Peter can hear the sneer in his words, "are you sure it's wise to trust Pettigrew with this? He knows nothing of loyalty. How do you know he will not betray you?"

Peter glares at the other wizard. He's never liked Barty. The boy has always been a Ministry brat and a pain in his ass.

"He is wiser than he looks," the Dark Lord says. "More cowardly too. He will not betray me."

Cowardly. Peter scowls. This is his legacy; he just the coward who had betrayed his best friends, the coward who had come running back to the Dark Lord the moment things turned ugly.

But he is so much more. Maybe he's never been as smart as Remus, as handsome as Sirius, as confident as James, but he is more than just a coward. He has more to offer than fickle loyalty.

"Leave us, Wormtail," his master says. "We have much to discuss."

Peter glares at the chair for a moment before nodding. Jaw clenched, he stalks out of the room.

Cowardly. Even the Dark Lord doesn't trust him. Peter is the one who has taken care of him. He would still be a husk if Peter hadn't found him, if he hadn't sacrificed his time for duty. Maybe it had been out of fear, but the point remains. The Dark Lord owes him. He deserves so much more than this ridicule and distrust.

Peter makes his way to the kitchen and starts the stove. He could have been something great, but now he's been reduced to little more than a servant.

He will find a way to prove himself. He is more than just a cowardly traitor. He is Peter Pettigrew, a Marauder, and he is worth so much more than what he's been given.


	16. Aberforth Dumbledore

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Writing Club, Showtime, "What'd I Miss" (purple velvet)_

 _Roald Dahl Event, Oompa bereavement (write about someone mourning)_

 _Word Count: 327_

* * *

Aberforth grazes his fingers over the ridiculous purple velvet cloak his brother had bought him all those years ago. He had laughed at the time and told Albus it's too flamboyant for his liking. Albus had simply smiled.

Now, his brother is gone. Aberforth pulls the cloak into his arms, burying his face in the material. Tears fall from his eyes, leaving damp pools that darken the velvet.

His relationship with his brother hadn't always been easy. After losing Ariana, he'd hated Albus and blamed him for their sister's death. Even if Albus hadn't been the one to cast the killing blow, he had brought the demon into their home. If Gellert had never been in the narrative, Ariana would have lived.

That resentment had eaten him alive for so long, but he'd eventually learned to let go. He and Albus had repaired their relationship, and things had finally fallen into a routine between them.

Now, his brother is gone. He traces his fingers over the purple material. It really is a silly piece of clothing. He wonders why on earth Albus had thought it would be an ideal Christmas present.

He loves his brother. Really, he always has, even during those terrible times when he could barely stand to look at Albus. He'd spent so much time trying to piece them back together, trying to be normal again.

Now, his brother is gone. He's never worn the cloak. He could never bring himself to wear something so silly. It's been two years, and he's sure it will still fit.

Albus' funeral is tomorrow. Aberforth slides an arm in, then another. The tears fall more freely now. He can almost imagine the robe as his brother, wrapping him in one last warm embrace.

He could never wear the robe when Albus had been alive. Maybe it's too late now, but it only feels right that he wears the robe to the funeral, to honor his brother's memory.


	17. Phineas Nigellus Black

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Writing Club, Showtime, "Election of 1800" (between a rock and hard place)_

 _Word Count: 600_

* * *

Phineas closes his eyes, reflecting on his dilemma. He's never been one to whine, but it's hardly fair that he's between a rock and a hard place now.

His son, his beloved namesake, has shown dangerous ideals. He's raised young Phineas better than to be a Muggle sympathizer.

" _It can't be helped," Elladora had said. "Sometimes the fruit is just rotten."_

Phineas opens his eyes, exhaling heavily. His son is not rotten, simply misguided. He tells himself over and over again that young Phineas had just fallen in with the wrong sort at Hogwarts and had allowed them to fill his mind with that silly rubbish about Muggles deserving fair treatment.

He knows what has to be done. The Black family have held tightly to their traditions for so long. Those who don't meet those ideals must be blasted from the tapestry. It's the way it's been for as long as he can remember. If someone doesn't conform to the family's beliefs, they have to be disowned. If not, the family will apart.

And yet, Phineas is hesitant. He loves his son dearly, but he cannot risk young Phineas corrupting the future generations. Now that Elladora knows the shameful secret, there's no hope for hiding his son away and sweeping everything under the rug. Allowing his son to continue to remain in the family will only bring shame to the noble House of Black.

Phineas sighs and leans back in his chair. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

If only he could find another option.

…

"You wanted to speak to me, Father?"

Phineas hesitates, studying young Phineas for a moment. He wishes he could find another way to do this.

"I'm sorry, Phineas," he says softly.

"Sorry?" his son echoes, brows knitting together. "I'm not… I don't understand."

Phineas sighs. Why can't this be easier? He's heard tales of his ancestors leaving their unsatisfactory children out in the cold to fend for themselves, yet he can't even blast one child from the tapestry.

He sits a little straighter, trying to find the strength he needs. This isn't the time to let his emotions cloud his judgement. "You have dangerous beliefs."

"Father-"

Phineas shakes his head. "Do not call me that," he says sharply. "I've given you a chance to reject this silly fallacy in your head, and yet you've chosen to cling to it instead."

He is grateful that his voice does not tremble. If he can make it believable, it will be easier. His son is bright enough to know not to stay where he isn't wanted.

"I'm… You're disowning me?" young Phineas asks, tears swimming in his dark eyes.

"You are my namesake, but you have proven to be my greatest source of shame."

That seems to do it. The pain in his son's eyes changes to something darker, something much more dangerous. Phineas takes a step back, fearing the potential backlash. Instead, his son turns without another word and stalks out of the office, and Phineas is certain the look in his eyes will haunt him for the rest of his days.

…

Phineas stares at the tapestry. Only moments ago, his son's portrait had been there. Now, all that remains is a scorch mark.

"I know it must have been hard for you, dear brother," Elladora says, though there's sympathy in her voice. "It was the only choice."

He bites the inside of his cheek. _The only choice._ It isn't quite true, but it's the easiest one.

"It's for the best," she tells him.

"I know."

And he wonders if he'll ever believe it.


	18. Poppy Pomfrey

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Writing Club, Showtime, "Take a Break" (working)_

 _Word Count: 519_

* * *

Poppy has always loved her job. As long as she can remember, she's always wanted to care for people, and working at Hogwarts has given her that opportunity. She isn't able to have children of her own, but she's cared for hundreds of students over the years, as a mother would.

But today is too much. The war is finally over, but all wars have victims and casualties, and when she returns to the hospital wing, she is reminded of exactly how brutal war can be.

"What can I do?" Hannah asks her, and Poppy is relieved to have another helper volunteer. War may be ugly, but the kindness of others stepping and volunteering their time warms her heart.

"Mr. MacMillan has a fractured shin," the Healer answers, summoning the necessary potion and offering it to Hannah. "Two tablespoons should do."

The young witch nods, accepting the vial and hurrying off. Poppy watches her for a moment, sighing heavily. By now, after hours of working with only one break, she is exhausted, but she knows she cannot stop now. Too many people rely on her work.

"Here you go, Miss Brown," she says, her heart breaking as she reaches the Gryffindor. Lavender is beyond her help. They've been waiting for St. Mungo's to send workers to transport those with greater wounds, but the hospital is just as backed up as this little hospital wing is. "Something for the pain."

Lavender groans, sitting up in the bed. Every movement seems to hurt her, no matter how small. She takes the potion, drinking it quickly.

Poppy summons fresh bandages and carefully pulls away the old ones. Her chest tightens when she sees the deep, jagged marks that tear through her face. "Everything will be okay, love," she assures the girl as she begins to apply the bandages, careful to keep her movements light.

"It doesn't feel it," Lavender says quietly, wincing as her lips move.

The Healer takes the girl by the hand, offering it a gentle squeeze. This is the part of her job that hurts her the most. She can heal wounds like they're nothing. She can cure illnesses with little effort at all. But this… Hearing the students- _her_ children- sound so hopeless, knowing that there are some wounds that even the most skilled Healer cannot take away shatters her heart into a thousand pieces.

She wants to sit with Lavender and offer her reassurances and hope until the Gryffindor finally believes, but she knows she can't. These moments, the first flickers of a new beginning, aren't all about celebrating. For Poppy, they're about healing, and as much as she wants to take her time and make sure every soul is saved, she has a ward full of the wounded and the dying.

"Get some rest," the Healer says gently. "St. Mungo's will send someone soon."

Her heart feels heavy as she moves to the next bed, the next poor child left scarred by the battle. This may be the worst part of her job, but it's the time when she knows her kids need her the most.


	19. Hermione Granger

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Writing Club, Showtime, "Hurricane" (quill)_

 _Word Count: 425_

* * *

Hermione lets out a frustrated groan as the quill snags against the parchment, causing her lines to become jagged. When she attempts to over them to smooth them out, it only makes the letter bold and ugly, nothing at all like her usual handwriting with a pencil or pen.

"Hermione, dear?" Her mother enters her room, eyes wide and swimming with concern and confusion. "What is it?"

Hermione holds up the quill, gesturing at it with her free hand. "Why on earth would they ask us to use _quills_?" she demands. "My handwriting is terrible!"

Her mother softens and moves closer to the desk. With a soft chuckle, she strokes Hermione's hair. "You worked hard to improve your handwriting, dear," she reminds her. "You'll just have to work hard now."

Hermione scowls at the quill like it's done something wrong. She drops it carelessly onto the desk, watching the remaining ink splatter messily over the parchment. Accepting that she's a witch had been easy. Discovering a hidden shopping area full of magical things she's never even heard of had been exciting, like walking into one of her beloved books. She's spent hours upon hours reading books on this amazing new world, learning everything she can.

But this ridiculous quill makes her question everything.

"You're a bright girl," her mother reminds her, fingers still brushing over Hermione's curls. "One of the brightest I've ever known, and you have the determination to match, dear. Give it time, and you'll have the best handwriting any witch or wizard has ever seen."

Hermione beams, feeling a new confidence. Her parents have always been so supportive. All it takes is one word from them, and she feels like she could conquer the world if she wanted to.

"Practice makes perfect," her mother says.

Hermione focuses her attention on the quill again. Nothing has ever looked so intimidating before, but she takes a deep breath and picks it up, dipping it in the ink pot. There's still another week and a half until she starts at Hogwarts. She has plenty of time to prepare herself as much as possible.

Slowly, she moves the quill down, marveling at the line. It's thin and shaky, but it looks much better than her last attempt.

This isn't the first time she's struggled with something. Learning has brought her countless obstacles which she's met with determination and a hunger to be the best. That's all this is, just another thing to learn. Knowing her mother is at her side, cheering her on, makes everything easier.


	20. Isolt Sayre

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Writing Club, Showtime, "It's Quiet Uptown" (garden)_

 _Word Count: 757_

* * *

Isolt frowns as she enters the school's garden. It's the only place she hasn't searched. If her daughter isn't here, she doesn't know where else to look. Then again, the garden should have been the first place. Rionach reminds Isolt so much of herself in her youth. Always outside, at peace living amongst the flowers and creatures.

"Do you often talk to people?" she hears her daughter ask.

Isolt pauses, head tipped to the side. Such a strange question. Even stranger is the reply that comes. Isolt understands the words, but she can hear the faint hissing that accompanies it.

 _You are the first, child._

Curious, Isolt follows the voices. She finds Rionach sitting beneath a tall oak tree. Other parents might panic upon seeing a snake wrapped around their child's ankle, but Isolt isn't surprised by the sight. More than anything, she is surprised to realize her daughter has her gift. Isolt wonders how she never noticed it sooner.

"I like talking to snakes," Rionach says, fingers gliding over the creature's scaly body, a satisfied smile on her lips. "It's why I like this garden so much. There are quite a few of you. My friends."

 _Most humans fear us._

"I'm not most people," the girl answers, and there's no mistaking the pride in her voice.

Isolt takes a deep breath. She hasn't practiced that language in such a long time. She realizes it doesn't matter; the old, familiar sounds roll right off her tongue. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, Rionach?" she asks.

The eight year old gasps, cream cheeks blushing a soft rose. The snake winds its body around so that it faces Isolt, its forked tongue flicking curiously.

 _Your mother speaks the language too?_

"I didn't know," Rionach says, fixing her eyes upon her mother, a mixture of confusion and hurt shining in them.

 _Perhaps I should go._

Before Rionach can protest, the snake slithers away, disappearing into the tall grass near the garden's wall.

"You never told me," Rionach says, switching back to English and climbing to her feet. "I've thought I was alone this entire time, but I'm not."

"I didn't know you possessed my gift," Isolt reasons. "You've never mentioned it."

The girl scowls. "Because no one else can! I thought there was something wrong with me!"

Isolt exhales heavily, her heart aching. No parent wants their child to feel so isolated. Her daughter has suffered in silence, so afraid of being labeled an outcast. Now Isolt understands why Rionach so often runs to this garden. It isn't just because she feels alive among nature; it's because there are snakes her that she can talk to, creatures she can form friendships with.

Isolt moves closer. She wraps her daughter in a gentle embrace, pressing a kiss to Rionach's forehead. "There is nothing wrong with you, my love," she assures her. "It is a rare gift, but it is part of who we are."

"Why can't Martha speak it then?"

"Because Martha was not born with the gift."

Rionach pulls away from her mother. She folds her arms stubbornly over her chest, a faint pout on her lips. Isolt fights back a laugh. Of course her daughter would treat this as some great betrayal. "I'm not different?" she asks. "I'm just special?"

"Very special," Isolt says softly. "Others may call it a gift, but you shouldn't believe that for even a moment, dear child. Would you like me to teach the types of snakes there are?"

Rionach's eyes widen. All mild resentment seems to fade, and a bright grin pulls at her lips as she nods enthusiastically. "Do you know them all?"

Isolt smiles and takes her daughter by the hand, guiding her back onto the garden's stone path. "When I first built this place, I often sought refuge in this garden," she tells her. "There were snakes I didn't know from my old home, and I spoke to them, curious to know more about them."

"I want to know them all!" Rionach tells her, her voice shrill with excitement. "Can you teach me about all the snakes in the world?"

Isolt chuckles. Her daughter is still young enough to not realize the world is so much bigger than what she thinks. Isolt knows that there are so many snakes, and even she will never meet them all. "We will start here," she says as they approach the patch of mandrakes where king snakes enjoy hiding. "Then, one day, I'm sure you'll venture out and learn them all."


	21. Rowena Ravenclaw

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Writing Club, Showtime, "The World Was Wide Enough" (regret)_

 _Word Count: 585_

* * *

Rowena doesn't understand. No matter how many times Godric tells her that Salazar has gone, no matter how many times he mentions the letter he's left behind, the words do not seem to reach her.

She places a hand over her heart, trying to ignore the pain that has made itself a home within her body. The worst part is not the heartache. The worst part is the uglier emotion that weighs heavily on her and makes her heart threaten to sink pitifully in her stomach.

Salazar is gone, and yet he had been in her chambers the previous evening. She should have known something had been wrong, should have realized somehow.

" _It is not appropriate to continue to meet with me like this," she tells him, though she's grown to enjoy his little visits more than she'd ever dare to admit. "Imagine if a student saw us. What sort of example are we setting?"_

 _He doesn't laugh, and it makes her uneasy. Salazar may be a serious man, a man many would call cold, but he has always been gentler with her. She's certain she's the only one he's ever truly smiled for._

She had known. Maybe she can't bring herself to admit it, but she had seen something in his eyes. Her clever mind had simply refused to process it.

Regret sours her stomach. She blinks rapidly, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay.

"Rowena?" Godric takes her hand, lips pulled into a frown. "Are you ill? You look rather pale."

" _I love you, Rowena."_

 _She hesitates, her heart skipping a beat. Rowena knows her feelings well. She's never been able to apply such a strong word to anyone before in her life, and she is afraid to do it now. "Salazar, be sensible," she says, trying to force as much firmness into her words as possible. "We have shared our beds, but there is no love there. Please…"_

" _Rowena…"_

"Rowena?"

"It must be the shock," Rowena says quietly.

It grows worse. She pulls away from Godric, splaying her fingers against the wall to support herself. Her breathing grows uneasy, and the room seems to spin around. "Actually, I'm not feeling well," she whispers.

"We'll get you to Helga quickly," Godric insists.

Rowena tries to protest, but he doesn't take no for an answer. Godric wraps his arm around, guiding her from her chambers and into the corridor.

 _He does love her. She sees the look in his eyes far too late. Salazar is gone before she can feel the regret set in._

 _She swallows that dark emotion down, holding her head high. She will not chase after him and return the sentiment. Such a gesture is reserved for a giggling schoolgirl. In the morning, she will find him, and she will tell him the truth._

"I don't understand."

Helga offers her a warm smile. Bless the dear woman. She has always been so kind. Many would judge Rowena for her current predicament, but her old friend remains gentle and open. Rowena wonders if a cruel word has ever passed the other woman's lips.

"I'm sure this must be quite a shock for you," Helga says gently, summoning a pot of tea and pouring Rowena a cup. "The news of our dear friend leaving can't have made it any easier."

Salazar…

Rowena closes her eyes, dropping her hand to her stomach. It's just one more regret. The man she could never admit to loving will never be able to meet his child.


	22. Nymphadora Tonks

_For Gobstones_

 _Blue stone- Childhood_

 _Accuracy: singing, Precision: "It's not my fault!", Technique: bubblegum pink_

* * *

Nymphadora creeps quietly into the house. Any other day, she'd happily announce that she's back inside after playing. Today, however, she doesn't want her mother to see the tear stains that trail down her cheeks.

She asks carefully, keeping her footsteps as soft as possible, but she's always been terribly clumsy. The eight year old's foot catches on the carpet, and she crashes unceremoniously to the floor.

"Dora?"

Nymphadora scrambles to her feet, ready to bolt from the room, but her mother enters before she can make a break for it. "Have you fallen again, love? I- What's wrong?"

The little girl pouts, rubbing at the salty traces that cling to her skin. "Nothing."

But her mother isn't swayed. Frowning, she kneels before Nymphadora, ruffling her bubblegum pink hair. "Come on, love. What is it?" she asks.

Nymphadora sniffles. "It's not my fault!" she insists. "I changed my hair color, and a- a Muggle boy saw me. I didn't mean to!"

She knows that she isn't supposed to show her magic off. It isn't bad, but it's against the grownups' rules. Her parents won't be mad at her, but she still hates admitting it.

"He called me a freak," the girl adds. "Am I a freak, Mummy?"

Her mother's frown deepens at that; it makes Nymphadora want to cry. She doesn't want to make her mum sad. "No, my love," she says softly. "You're not a freak. You're special."

With another sniffle, Nymphadora wipes her eyes again. She doesn't feel special, but her mum is older and smarter. If she says she's special…

Her mother holds her closer, singing a song that's always helped to calm Nymphadora. The girl smiles, gradually relaxing into the embrace. "My special girl," her mother sings. "More precious than anything in this world."

…

When she's eleven, Charlie Weasley sees her change her hair color again. Nymphadora braces herself. Even witches and wizards sometimes find her abilities strange. She waits, so sure he'll call her a freak, or worse.

Instead, the Gryffindor grins broadly. "Wicked," he declares. "You can just do that whenever you want?"

She hesitates but nods, lips quirking into an almost smile. "Y-yeah," she confirms, tugging at her signature bubblegum pink locks.

"Can you make your hair like mine?"

She scrunches her face, watching as the pink fades, turning a fiery red. "You don't think I'm a freak?"

Charlie shakes his head. "I think you're special," he says. "I wish I could do that."

The Hufflepuff can't help but smile at that. She's always been so afraid of what she is, of what she can do. It's made it all too easy for her to isolate herself and assume no one will think her talent is a gift. But Charlie Weasley looks at her like she's the coolest person he's ever known, and she feels a warm, fuzzy sensation in her stomach.

"Ooh! Ooh! Make your face look like Snape's!" he requests.

Tonks giggles, focusing on growing out her nose and making it curve like a hook. Maybe she'll always be different, but it's the first time she's felt normal.


	23. Pandora Lovegood

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Love in Motion: Pandora and Luna_

 _Haunted House: Write about something hidden._

 _Count Your Buttons: cage_

* * *

"Mummy! I can't find my socks!"

Pandora looks up from her book to see her daughter looking quite distraught. Tears cling to Luna's lashes, and her lower lip quivers.

"They're my favorite ones! My Niffler socks!" the six year old adds, emphasizing the importance of her lost belongings.

Pandora purses her lips and taps a finger to her chin in thought. "Let's see, love," she says softly. "Where did you have them last?"

Luna lifts a leg, wriggling her toes. "On my feet! The nargles must have taken them while I was napping!"

"Oh no! Those silly nargles," Pandora chuckles. "Your father must have brought some home with him because I definitely cleansed the house of them."

"Mummy!"

Pandora climbs to her feet, abandoning her book. She has all the time in the world to read up on the theory of spellcrafting. These moments with Luna are too precious to waste. Her daughter is getting so big, and Pandora knows that there will come a day where Luna won't need her to help will simple tasks like this.

"Now, if you were a nargle, where would you hide socks?" Pandora asks.

Luna scrunches her face in thought, her pale eyes twinkling. Her lips quirk into a small smile, and she darts off, her bare feet thudding softly against the hardwood floor. Chuckling, Pandora follows her into the library. She finds Luna stacking books beneath an empty cage to make up for her lack of height.

Pandora knows that she could easily help, but Luna has always been so independent. Pandora leans against the doorframe, watching her daughter stretch and crane until she gets a good view. "It isn't here!" Luna reports, poking the golden bars of the cage gently.

With a smile, Pandora holds out her arms. Luna hurries over, accepting a quick hug. "You made a good guess," the older woman praises. "What made you think they would be there?"

"Because they hid my hair ties in there last time," the girl answers.

Pandora gently strokes her daughter's hair, nodding. "And what have we learned today?"

"Nargles change up their hiding places."

"Good job. Now, where else?"

Luna closes her eyes, her teeth worrying gently at her lip. After a moment, she opens her eyes again, a broad grin on her lips. Without a word, she pulls herself out of Pandora's embrace and darts from the library. Pandora follows her daughter until they reach Luna's room.

"The last place you'd think to look is often the best," Pandora agrees, watching as Luna digs through a pile of toys.

With a triumphant cheer, the six year old holds up a pair of blue and purple striped socks with Nifflers on them. She offers her mother a smile. "They hid them in my cauldron!" she laughs, sitting down and pulling her socks on her bare feet. "Can we have cocoa now?"

Pandora considers. She still has a lot of research to do. One look at Luna, however, and it doesn't matter. She wants these precious moments. "Of course!"

Spellcrafting can wait.


	24. Alecto Carrow

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Haunted House: Write about Fiendfyre. Sanity Prompt: disappearing_

 _Count Your Buttons: Alecto Carrow_

* * *

I.

Alecto watches in fascination as the flames take form. Fearsome beasts seem to dance within the cursed fire. A small laugh bubbles from her lips.

"Dammit, Alecto!" her brother scolds, rounding on her.

The fire disappears, leaving Alecto in even more awe. She has seen many people attempt the Fiendfyre Curse, but no one has ever shown so much control over those terrible flames. Her brother might be a bit of an idiot, but he has his little talents.

"What would you have done if the fire had taken you?" he demands, shoving her roughly.

Alecto recoils with a whimper. She is used to her brother's temper; he only hurts her because he loves her. It is only out of kindness that he is cruel. "Can you teach me?" she asks.

Amycus scowls. Alecto braces herself for his fury, but, to her surprise, her brother softens. "It isn't easy," he warns.

"I want to learn!" she insists eagerly, a broad smile stretching her lips.

She's always idolized her brother. He is cruel and fierce, and she wants to be just like him.

"Fine."

…

"Stupid girl!" Amycus screams, waving his wand and causing her fire to fade.

Amycus shrinks back. She had thought she'd done a good job. She'd done everything just right, and her cursed fire had been brilliant.

Her brother gets in her face, lips drawn into a snarl. His palm smacks the side of her head sharply, and Alecto whimpers, scurrying back.

"You didn't have enough focus!" Amycus snaps, stepping forward. "You could have ruined everything!"

"S-sorry," she says, blinking rapidly. She will not cry in front of him; tears show weakness, and she will not be weak.

"Again. Pay attention this time!"

With a sniffle, Alecto holds her wand firmly in her hand. She will do this properly. She will make her brother proud.

…

She feels powerful as she watches the flaming beasts move as she commands them. Pride swells in her chest. She has done it!

Amycus approaches, and Alecto feels her confidence falter. Somehow, she keeps her attention on her curse.

"Not bad," her brother says.

Coming from him, it's the highest praise she can receive.

II.

Amycus is cruel because he loves her. She reminds herself again and again as her brother screams at her in the corridor. She is only grateful that there aren't any students around to see her degraded like this.

"You're too soft!" he sneers, shoving her roughly; her shoulder slams painfully against the cold stone wall. "You'd be happy to just smack a student and send them on their merry way."

"I- I'm not-"

Amycus spits at her feet. "You disgust me," he says before stalking off.

Alecto will not cry. She will not be weak, even if there is no one here to yell at her for it.

But she does cry. Silent tears sting her eyes, and her body trembles pitifully.

"Alecto?"

She swears softly under her breath when she hears the voice. Of all the people who could see her like this, it's particularly insulting for it to be Minerva.

"Nothing to see here," Alecto snaps, hating the way her voice cracks. "Move along."

The bloody Gryffindor doesn't, of course. Alecto scowls. Minerva is too stubborn; it will get her killed one day.

"Come, dear. Have some tea."

…

Alecto isn't sure why she accepts the invitation. She sits awkwardly, watching as the Transfiguration professor puts the kettle on. It's stupid to be here. Minerva McGonagall cannot be trusted.

"Your brother shouldn't be so cruel to you," Minerva says. "Sugar?"

Alecto shakes her head, scowling. Minerva has no right to pry into her family life. Alecto isn't isn't a student in need of saving. "My brother is not cruel."

Minerva sets the cup in front of her. Alecto lifts it cautiously, eyeing the contents suspiciously.

"I didn't poison it," Minerva assures her.

With a scowl, Alecto sips the warm liquid. She hates to admit it, but it's actually calming.

"Siblings may fight," Minerva continues, "but he has no right to be physical with you. My brothers and I didn't always agree, but they loved me. They would never harm me."

Alecto shuffles her feet awkwardly. This conversation feels like a betrayal. If Amycus finds out…

She shakes her head. "It's none of your concern," she says sharply, setting her cup down and climbing to her feet. "Thank you for the tea, but I really must go."

Minerva doesn't stop her. However, when Alecto reaches the door, the older woman adds, "I think it's time that you stood up for yourself, dear."

III.

"What are you doing?" Amycus demands.

Alecto doesn't understand how he can be bothered by her in the midst of the battle. There should be more pressing matters. She keeps her attention on the cursed fire.

"Not here! Wait before you use it, you idiot!" he snarls, pushing her.

Her attention doesn't break, but something snaps inside her.

 _I think it's time you stood up for yourself, dear._

She doesn't even think about it. One quick turn, and the fire creeps towards her brother.

"What are you doing? Alecto! Alecto, stop!"

"Are you proud of me, dear brother?"

He doesn't answer. He doesn't even have a chance. The flames wrap around his body, and she's met with a scream.

She expects to feel something. Sadness, perhaps. It doesn't come.

Instead, Alecto lets out a victorious laugh. She is free.


	25. Remus Lupin

_For the Hogwarts Forum_

 _Haunted House: Write about the Silencing Charm_

 _Showtime, "Torture Tango" (suffer)_

* * *

Remus trembles as his father leads him to his room. It isn't a punishment, but it feels like one. The moon will rise soon, and the pain will begin. But it isn't the suffering that causes him to shiver; it's the isolation.

Maybe it would be more tolerable if his father or mother could stay with him, but he knows that isn't an option. When he transforms, he will be dangerous. Remus would never hurt anyone, but won't be himself before the hour is up.

"I'm scared," he admits, his voice breaking as tears prick his eyes.

His father places a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder, but his reassuring touch does not bring the boy peace. "I know, son," he says. "It will be over soon."

Not soon enough. Remus will become a beast and lose his humanity. Though he knows it will only last for hours, time will blur, and it will feel like an eternity. An eternity of loneliness. An eternity of agony.

"I'm sorry," his father says, drawing his wand. "I love you."

Remus nods. He knows what will come next. It's another moment to dread. "I love you too."

"Silencio," his father says with a wave of his wand.

Remus opens his mouth, but no words come out. He always knows that it will be like this. When the transformation hits and he isn't himself anymore, silence is the only thing that will keep his family safe from attention. Still, the silence is terrifying, and Remus' first instinct is always to fight it.

His father offers him one last pained smile, tears swimming in his eyes. "I'll see you in the morning."

Then he's gone. Remus listens to the movement on the other side of the door. His father casts a spell, and he hears the lock clicking into place.

All that's left is to wait.

…

"I can't have anyone in here when I transform," he says, shaking his head.

His friends have always been reckless, but Remus has never thought of them as suicidal. If they expect to lock themselves in a shack with a werewolf… Well, if they survive, they had better visit Madam Pomfrey in the morning to have their heads examined.

"You can't have any humans," Sirius says, his tone implying that he's offering a correction.

Remus blinks, looking between his three friends, wondering if James or Peter will point out the obvious. When they don't, he says, "And you three are humans."

"Now," James says. "Just watch."

Remus groans. He doesn't have time to watch. The moon will be in the sky soon. The pain will begin. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling deeply. When his eyes open again, his faced with a dog, stag, and rat where his friends had stood only a moment earlier.

A smile plays at his lips as he understands.

"Brilliant."

His pain will still be there. That much will never change. But, for the first time ever, he doesn't have to be alone.


	26. Ginny Weasley

_Showtime, "Penny's Song": dreams_

 _Yule Ball: Write about meeting someone famous_

 _Word Count: 462_

* * *

Ginny tries to remind herself to be cool. She's a member of the Holyhead Harpies now; she belongs here. Still, her heart races as she enters the change room to prepare for her first practice. There's still an hour until practice begins, but her nerves are on fire, and she has to be here early to make a good impression— Hermione would be so proud.

She expects the change room to be empty, and the sound of a locker closing causes her to freeze. _You belong here,_ she reminds herself. The mantra doesn't calm her nerves.

"Someone there?"

A woman steps out, and Ginny thinks she might faint. She's well aware of who the woman is. She's appeared in many of Ginny's dreams; she's the reason Ginny fell in love with Quidditch in the first place.

"You're Gwenog Jones," Ginny says in awe, her jaw going slack.

Gwenog laughs softly, offering the younger witch a nod. "And you're Ginny Weasley," she says.

Ginny's heart skips a beat. Gwenog Jones is one of the most famous witches in the game, and she knows who Ginny is. She leans against the wall to keep from falling over. "You know who I am?" She realizes how stupid she sounds. "Right. You're the captain. Of course you know who I am."

She hadn't actually gotten to speak to Gwenog while trying out. Her contract had been arranged through the team's manager.

Gwenog offers her a gentle smile. It's almost strange. The Welsh witch is known for her intensity and ferocious nature, both on the pitch and off, but here she is, regarding Ginny with kindness. "Bit eager to practice?" she asks.

Ginny blushes. Now, she almost feels silly to show up so early. Gwenog captains the team, so she has a reason to show up before everyone else. Ginny, on the other hand, is just a player. She isn't important. "A bit, yeah," she mumbles.

She expects Gwenog to tease her. Everyone tried to warn her that teams enjoy messing with new recruits. Instead, the Beater grins. "Come on. I can show you a few tricks before practice begins."

…

It's like all her dreams have come true at once. She flies through the air, beaming as Gwenog coaches her.

"Bit more to the left. There you go!"

Gwenog Jones knows who she is. Gwenog Jones is personally training her.

As she lands again, she feels absolutely giddy.

"I'd almost say you don't even need to come to practice," Gwenog notes. "I've never seen anyone fly like that."

Her idol is praising her. Ginny had thought nothing could ever be better than joining the Harpies. Now, she feels like everything has fallen into place, and the world is more wonderful than she could have ever imagined.


	27. Nicolas Flamel

_Yule Ball: Write about a non-British witch or wizard._

 _Word Count: 465_

* * *

"My love," Perenelle says softly, resting a withered hand on his shoulder.

Nicolas looks up, a smile on his lips. He takes her hand a guides it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Are you afraid?" she asks.

She doesn't have to clarify. It's something that's been weighing on both of their minds since the Stone had been destroyed. Their affairs are in order, and their supply of the elixir is nearly gone. Death will find them before the year is over.

"Afraid?" he muses, climbing to his feet and embracing his wife. "No, my dear. I am not afraid."

They've been running from death for so long, but not out of fear. They have lived for centuries, guided by their thirst for knowledge and adventure. With Perenelle by his side, it has been a most wonderful life. His only regret is that he couldn't give her forever, though he's tried his best.

"Nor am I," she whispers, taking a step back, a bright smile on her thin lips.

That smile still takes his breath away. After so many centuries, she still looks radiant. His heart breaks as he realizes he will not be able to see that smile for much longer. Not in this life, at least.

He shakes his head. This is not the time for sadness. If he lets his mind linger too long in the darkness, the demons will take hold. His time left with Perenelle is numbered, and he wants these beautiful days to be filled only with happiness.

With a wave of his wand, the record player springs to life. The vinyl spins, and sweet, soft music reminiscent of a time long since past begins to fill the air.

"Dance with me," he says softly.

Perenelle takes his hand, offering him a small bow of her head. "Of course, my love."

He would be happy to spend an eternity dancing with her. She is still just as graceful as she had been all those centuries ago when they'd met at Beauxbatons. Her movements are slower now that the years have caught up to them, but her smile is beautiful, and her laugh is soft and sweet. Nicolas feels himself falling in love with her all over again.

"I shall miss dancing with you," she tells him as they slow to a stop.

"Then, my love, we shall dance every day until we are parted," he assures her, pressing a kiss to her white hair. "And when we meet in the great beyond, we shall resume our dance for eternity."

And as he speaks the words, he understands. They cannot have eternity in this life, but eternity is waiting for them beyond the veil; they will dance in a world where death and time do not exist.


	28. Cedric Diggory

Insane House Competition: Cedric Diggory

Showtime, "You Will Be Found", (genre) friendship

Restriction of the Month: No characters over 20 (Luna Lovegood)

Bath Bomb Appreciation: Cotton Flower, write about a pure character.

Word Count: 656

* * *

He frowns when he finds Luna outside the Herbology greenhouses, her feet bare and dirty. Cedric has always liked the younger girl. Though there's a substantial age difference, they grew up close, and he's always looked at her as a friend or a little sister.

"Where are your shoes?" he asks, tempted to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder to get her out of the muddy snowy slush mixture. Cedric doesn't understand how she can look so calm and collected, as though the cold doesn't bother her at all.

The Ravenclaw glances down and wiggles her toes. A small frown pulls at her lips. "I suspect the nargles took them again," she answers. "My scarf as well. It always happens around this time of the year. I was just looking to see if they hid in the greenhouses this time."

"Why would they be here?"

"Paige Thornholm said she thinks she saw them here."

Cedric inhales deeply. He can guess what's happened, of course. While most of the Houses are progressive enough, there are still some who can't comprehend anyone or anything that goes against the social norm. Luna Lovegood may be one the sweetest, most innocent people he's ever known, but she is definitely different. Her Housemates must have stolen her things and hidden them across the grounds for a laugh. His stomach sours at the thought.

"Come on," he says gently. "I was just about to check on something for Professor Sprout. I'll help you look."

Her silvery eyes brighten. "Thank you," she says gently, following him inside.

"You're sure it was nargles?" he asks as they begin to search the greenhouse. "It couldn't be anything else?"

Cedric doesn't bother to tell her that nargles aren't real. It might be kinder to do so, but Luna needs something to believe in. It doesn't hurt anyone, and there's no need to break her heart.

"Definitely nargles," the twelve year old answers brightly, moving a potted plant and sighing. "What else could it be?"

"People," he suggests.

Luna shakes her head before moving to the next table. "Why would people hide my things?" she ponders. "That's silly. Nargles are harmless and annoying; it's just what they do."

Cedric sighs. He Luna still sees the world as some beautiful place. One day, she'll realize that it isn't that simple, that people aren't as nice as she wishes them to be.

"Oh! Here it is!"

He follows her gaze, and his blood grows hot. Whoever stole her shoes decided to hide them in dragon dung fertilizer. Luna doesn't seem to mind. Even as her nose crinkles at the smell, there's a smile on her face as she plucks a blue trainer from pile.

"Here," he offers, taking the shoes and setting them down on a table. "Scourgify!"

When Luna takes the newly clean shoes from him, her smile is still in place. "Thank you," she says softly. "It's lovely that you're so nice. Maybe when I have friends one day, they'll be as nice as you."

"We are friends," he assures her, watching as she slips her feet into the shoes and ties the laces.

He wonders how people can be so cruel. Luna has never done anything to hurt anyone. She doesn't deserve to be treated like this.

"Are we?" she asks. "How wonderful. Thank you."

With one last sweet smile, she starts for the door, humming to herself. "Now, they said my scarf is in the Forbidden Forest…"

Cedric sighs before following after her. No one deserves to be alone in the world. If all he can do to show Luna that she has a friend is helping her collect her things, he'll do it.

Still, deep down, he hopes to find the people responsible for her missing belongings. If he ever has the chance, he'll make sure they know that she is under his protection.

After all, that's what friends are for.


	29. Hugo Weasley

_First and foremost, for Ash to celebrate her wedding day. I love you!_

 _Also for_

 _Insane House Competition: "I won't leave you."_

 _365 Prompts Challenge: gay_

 _Showtime, "Finale": "That's enough."_

 _Sticker Challenge: Write about a Weasley_

 _Bath Bomb Appreciation: Heart 2 Heart, write about two people having a heart to heart_

 _Happy Newt Year, nibbles: Ron Weasley_

 _Word Count: 669_

* * *

Hugo takes a deep breath. He has to do this. There's no reason for him to feel so nervous; his family has always shown him love and kindness. Nothing will change that.

At least he hopes not. Hugo doesn't know if his family has ever encountered anything like this before.

His heart races painfully in his chest, and Hugo sucks in another deep breath. His anxiety doesn't fade; his hands continue to tremble, and his face suddenly feels feverish.

"Hu?" his father calls, hurrying over, lips pulled into a frown. "Are you okay? You look sick."

"I…" Hugo trails off, wringing his hands together. It should be easy to say. Two words and just as many syllables. And yet they seem to stick in his throat. "Dad, can I talk to you?"

"Of course. I was just about to fix a bowl of ice cream. Want some?" the older man asks.

"Sure."

Maybe the sugar will help. Hugo isn't sure if it's a logical thing to think, but he doesn't care. At the very least, the cold, sweet chill of the ice cream should make him feel better.

His father places two bowls on the kitchen table, and Hugo takes a seat. He drags his spoon over the frozen treat, amusing himself for a moment by tracing little lines in the ice cream.

"What's wrong?"

Almost reluctantly, Hugo looks up. "Why, uh, why would you think something's wrong, Dad?"

His father's lips quirk into a half smile, and he shakes his head. "Your mum used to accuse me of being terrible at reading people," he laughs softly. "I tried to learn. Still not quite up to speed, but you're my son. I know when something is bothering you, kid."

Hugo bites the inside of his cheek, still swirling his ice cream around. His dad loves him; it should be easy. He lifts the spooky to his lips, taking a bite of the soft, frozen cream. "You'll love me no matter what, right?" he asks.

His father chuckles. "You're sister got engaged to a Malfoy, and I still love her," he tells Hugo.

The sixteen year old nods. He doesn't point out that his father eventually came around to liking Scorpius. "I… Dad, I'm gay."

For some reason, he expects some sort of fall out. At the very least, he assumes his father's face will turn red and splotchy like it usually does when he gets upset. Instead, his father just nods, a proud smile on his face. "Well, that's unexpected," he says. "A good sort of unexpected, mind you."

"You're not going to throw me out?"

"Throw you out? Why? Because you love someone?" His father waves a dismissive hand and pushes his bowl aside before climbing to his feet. He walks to the other side of the table and rests a hand on Hugo's shoulder. "You're my son, and I love you. I won't leave you."

"Even if I like boys?"

"I'll admit it's a shock. I always imagined you growing up and falling in love with Priya Goldstein, as close as you two are," he admits. "But you're happy, right?"

Hugo doesn't even have to think about his answer. He's spent years trying to discover himself. He's been afraid and disgusted, but now he's finally come to terms with who he is. It's been a struggle, but he's proud of his identity, and he could never be happier. "Of course."

"That's enough. That's all a father could ever want, Hu. Now, eat your ice cream. No son of mine is going to waste a perfectly good dessert."

"You're one to talk," Hugo teases, gesturing at his father's half-finished bowl that he abandoned.

His father considers for a moment before nodding. "You make a good point."

And as they sit together in a comfortable silence, eating their ice cream, Hugo can't help but smile. He had been so afraid for nothing. Everything will be okay. He is loved and accepted, and the world has never looked so bright.


	30. Severus Snape

_Character Appreciation: Potions_

 _Book Club, Pete: game, balancing something, accident_

 _T.V. Show of the Month, Sherlock Holmes: Severus Snape, scarf, sociopath_

 _Sticker Challenge, Locket: Write about something getting switched_

 _Insane House Competition: cauldron_

 _Word Count: 454_

* * *

Severus doesn't like the way Potter keeps looking at him. Admittedly, he's used to it by now, and he knows exactly what it means. The idiot is up to something again, and it's only a matter of time before he manages to ruin Severus' day.

He forces his attention back to his cauldron. Maybe that's Potter's game— distract Severus until he manages to fail Potions. Severus snorts. Once, Potter's little games had been almost interesting. The sociopath seems to be losing his touch. Maybe he's grown bored or somehow developed a conscience.

Severus carefully measures out the powdered pearl, balancing it between his fingers as he examines it through narrowed eyes. His measurements are precise, but something about it seems off. The color is just a little too dull, and Severus wonders if Slughorn has gotten a shoddy supply of pearl powder. Luckily, it won't have any effect on the potion itself.

As Severus leans in closer and hovers over his cauldron, he hears the unmistakable sound of Black giggling. "Mate, look! Look!"

"I see it."

Severus rolls his eyes. He wonders what they're laughing at, but he ignores them. Over the years, he has perfected the art of tuning out their nonsensical chatter; it makes his life infinitely easier.

Severus sprinkles the powdered pearl in slowly, keeping a steady clockwise stir as it blends in with the potion. Any minute now, it will turn a bright lime green, and Slughorn will come by to praise him. A grin tugs at his lips. That ought to shut Potter and his little friends up.

The potion begins to bubble uncontrollably. A sickly green sludge splatters Severus' scarf, and the material begins to smoke. Severus rips it from his neck and tosses it to the ground as he stumbles back, landing unceremoniously on his backside. Potter and Black roar with laughter.

"Careful, Snievllus," Potter says. "You're supposed to add powdered pearl, not frog bones."

Severus gawks as his sabotaged potion as the steam muck inside overflows. Slughorn rushes over, vanishing the contents before they can do any damage. "Accidents happen," the professor says, but he looks at Severus with heavy disappointment in his eyes.

Severus cheeks burn as he climbs to his feet. Now that Slughorn is around, Potter and Black have quieted down, but they wear identical smug expressions.

Severus scowls, hatred burning through his veins. Potter has humiliated him enough. He's stolen Lily, he's subjected Severus to far too many cruel pranks to count, but this is going too far. Potions has always been his favorite class, the one thing he's truly excelled at, and now Potter has ruined that.

Dusting himself off, Severus glares daggers at the smirking Gryffindor boys. This means war.


	31. Percy Weasley

_TV Show, Mycroft: Percy, umbrella, protective_

 _Book Club, Quinn: betrayal, redemption, fish_

 _Word Count: 392_

* * *

Percy closes the umbrella, shaking off the last few drops of rain before entering his small home. There are letters from his family, still unopened, on the coffee table. Looking at them causes his insides to twist with shame. He knows he could write to them. His family is far kinder than he deserves, and they would forgive his betrayal.

But he cannot forgive himself.

He sets the takeaway carton down, the aroma of cold fish and chips filling the air. It's miserable, really. He still remembers the beautiful meals his mother would prepare for them. Now, he's gotten used to whatever is quick and cheap, and nothing tastes quite as good as those beautiful meals he had grown up with.

"Stop it," he mutters to himself.

He's become fragile. If he lets his mind wander for too long, it gets stuck in the dark places. He's tried every protective potion he can find to keep his demons at bay, but they never last for long. He's spiraling, and there's nothing that can stop him.

Maybe it's best if he just crashes and burns. Why would he deserve a chance at redemption? Betraying his family, isolating himself, becoming a puppet who is complicit with the Ministry's new regime… It's unforgivable.

He deserves this loneliness. He deserves the pain that builds in his chest with each letter from his parents or siblings that slowly piles up on the table.

With a sigh, Percy plucks a soggy chip from the pile and pops it into his mouth. The cold grease makes him want to gag, but he forces it down.

"Get a grip," he mutters.

A laugh spills from his lips. He's talking to himself. In the back of his mind, he's certain that it's a sign of insanity. How fitting. He's allowed himself to become well adjusted to this sick new world. Maybe he truly has lost his mind.

He shakes his head. No. Insanity is much too easy. It's a flimsy excuse. Maybe he hadn't known exactly what he was doing, but he was more than aware of the consequences that unfolded in the aftermath of each choice.

Percy pushes the takeaway box aside and rests his face against his palms. Tears trickle from his eyes.

He wants to go home; he wants to make this right.

He just doesn't know how.


	32. Augusta Longbottom

_Love In Motion: Augusta and Neville_

 _Character Appreciation: family_

 _Days of the Month, Pluto Day: Write about someone who is often overlooked_

 _Lyric Alley: "As life breaks new ground"_

 _Liza's Loves, Warm Old-Fashioned: grandparent_

 _Insane House Competition: proud_

 _Gobstones, yellow stone (family): hat, mustard yellow, kettle_

 _Word Count: 358_

* * *

"I'm sorry."

Neville looks up from the kettle, tipping his head to the side. Augusta heaves an exhausted sigh, tugging at the rim of her floppy mustard yellow hat. Why is it so hard to talk to him? They are family, after all, and he is all she has left. It should be easy to sit down with him and have a heart to heart. And yet the words seem to stick in her throat.

Shame. She knows the emotion all too well. She's spent so long being ashamed of him, and now she's ashamed of herself for it. Neville is a good boy, but she's overlooked him and treated him unfairly. He isn't his father, and it's taken her far too long to understand this.

Frank would be proud of him, though. Augusta wipes a tear from her eye, her thin lips twitching into a soft smile. Maybe she's been too hard on him over the years, but he's grown into such a good man. Her grandson has gone from a silly, bumbling child to a war hero.

"I should have spent more time with you," she says quietly.

Neville removes the kettle from the heat and pours the steaming water over the tea bags in the cup. For several moments, he doesn't speak. He works in silence, carefully preparing each cup. He doesn't break the silence until he sets the cup in front of her. "You did your best, Gran," he says, kissing her cheek. "I'm not angry with you."

"Well, you damn well better not be," she says with a laugh.

He smiles at that and takes a seat across from her, sipping his tea. Augusta smiles. He looks so much like Alice, and it breaks her heart.

She shakes her head. She can't think of him as Frank's boy or Alice's boy anymore. He may be so much like his parents, but he is his own person.

"I'm proud of you," she says.

She's spent years pushing him aside, holding him to such high standards, but things are changing. This is a new chapter in their stories, and she plans to make it count.


	33. Tina Goldstein

_Gobstones, Grey Stone (protection): America, tripping, Tina Goldstein_

 _Insane House Competition: New York_

 _Book Club, Glen Bateman: mentor, curiosity, "It's okay, [Name]. You didn't know any better."_

 _Showtime, "Something Bad": Newt Scamander_

 _Word Count: 626_

* * *

"You've redecorated!" Newt says as he steps inside.

"No, I moved," Tina says, watching him with raised brows as he trips over his own feet. "How did you even find me?"

"Your sister. Saw her at the bakery," Newt answers, and Tina notices something move beneath the fabric of his shirt.

At that moment, she realizes his strange suitcase is nowhere in sight, and Pickett is in his usual spot in Newt's pocket. Which does not explain why Newt's shirt is moving. Tina feels her stomach sink. Newt is lovely, and maybe she has a bit of a crush on him, but his obsession with creatures will be the death of her.

She folds her arms over her chest. "What are you doing here?"

Newt adjusts his shirt and reaches inside. When his hand reappears, he's holding what looks suspiciously like a baby dragon.

"Newt… Tell me that's not…"

As if to confirm her fear, the creature coughs up a spark of fire. Newt quickly pats his chest before the spark can ignite. "It's okay, fella," he chuckles, affectionately stroking the tiny dragon's neck. "You don't know any better."

Tina pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling deeply. "What the hell are you doing here with a dragon?" she asks, trying and failing to remain calm.

There is a dragon. A dragon. In her living room.

"Nothing funny, I assure you. This little fella was being smuggled," Newt explains, smiling and cooing at the creature. It would be cute if the dragon wasn't so terrifying. "And this particular breed doesn't like the rain. No, he doesn't; isn't that right, sweetie?"

Tina clears her throat. "You haven't explained why you're _here_ ," she reminds him.

"Hmmm? Oh! Right. Here. I don't have my suitcase with me… Long story," he says. "So, I needed to get this fella somewhere safe."

She doesn't think she will ever understand Newt Scamander. Every time she thinks she's close, he does something so incredibly… _Newt_ … that she can't quite explain or understand. It's endearing, and it makes her heart flutter.

"And what do you plan to do after it stops raining?"

"Take him in for a bit," he answers, his eyes alight with curiosity and wonder as the dragon nips at his fingers. "Be a mentor to him. Well, as much of one as I can. Dragons are a bit temperamental, so they aren't easy to train, and this one's bit roughed around."

She feels her heart break a bit at that. Dragons are fearsome beasts; it's what she's been taught. Who would be bold enough to get close to a dragon, let alone hurt one?

"There have been rumors of dragon fighting ring around Albany," Newt continues, still making silly faces for the dragon. "I don't want this fella to get caught up in that. He'll be on his way to Romania as soon as he's ready."

Tina has never cared about dragons. She's always seen them as little more than terrifying beasts. But the way Newt talks about the tiny thing causes something within her being to shift. She feels his compulsion to protect the poor thing, even if it's just for a moment.

"He won't burn the place down, will he?" she asks hesitantly.

Newt chuckles. "The most he could do is cause a small fire." He must see the panic in her eyes, because he quickly adds, "Don't worry! There are charms that will protect your things."

She doesn't know why she's agreeing. It's ridiculous and dangerous to even think about, but she can't help herself. Newt's passion is contagious.

Maybe she'll never quite understand him, but that's okay. She has a once in a lifetime chance to unravel his mystery, and she finds herself jumping at the chance.


	34. Eileen Prince

Book Club, Eddie's Dad: Tobias Snape, damage, "What? This ain't good enough for you?"

Disney, Manipulation: Write about someone being manipulated

Word Count: 381

* * *

Eileen is ready to run. She doesn't bother trying to pack much. By now, she knows how to survive with barely anything to her name. She can make it through this somehow.

Tobias seems to be waiting for her in the living room. Though a newspaper is in his hands, his dark eyes are fixed upon the doorway, as though he already knew she would try to leave. "What?" he asks, climbing to his feet. "This ain't good enough for you?"

Eileen drops her gaze to her feet, unable to fight the shiver that grips her slender frame. "I… I wasn't—"

Her husband steps closer, and she lets the sentence die. By now, she knows not to make him angry. She has learned far too many times that his hands are skilled in the art of damage. "You aren't leaving me, Eileen. I won't allow it."

Once, she had thought those words were exciting. In her youth, she had seen it as desire. Now, she knows what it is. Control. Manipulation. All he has to do is offer her a smile and a few sweet words, and he casts a spell on her that no Muggle should ever be capable of.

"You know I love you," he whispers, thin lips twitching until they're more smile than grimace. He grips her shoulders and pulls her close; Eileen can almost convince herself that he doesn't mean to squeeze those bruises into her skin. "Come on. Let's try again."

She doesn't have to ask what he means. They've been trying for a child, so convinced that it will be enough to fix their relationship. Eileen is certain she should say no. Tobias is too toxic, too volatile. She needs to run as far as possible.

But his touch is so gentle, and it's far too easy to melt. "Tobias," she murmurs.

She needs to leave. Staying will only mean pain and suffering, and the cycle will never be broken.

She wraps her arms around him, and maybe she hates herself for it, but she cannot tell him no. She needs to let go of him, but all she wants is to stay, to have a perfect life with him at her side.

This time, somehow, they will get things right. She just knows it.


	35. Victoire Weasley

_Character Appreciation: siblings_

 _Shannon's Showcase, Czech Republic: camel, backpack_

 _Showtime, Suddenly (reprise): journey_

 _Ami's Audio, I Have Heard the Future: Next Gen_

 _Word Count: 389_

* * *

Victoire can hardly believe it's happening. She has endured an entire vacation, hiked in hot sand, suffered through the heat of a blistering sun, and now her journey has paid off.

"Dom!" she squeals, slipping an arm around her little sister, unable to resist the broad grin that plays at her pink, painted lips. "Can you believe it? I finally get to see it! Up close and in person!"

Dominique looks infinitely less excited than Victoire. Though she smiles fondly, she slips out of Victoire's grip and shakes her head. "We went to Romania to visit Uncle Charlie, and you barely seemed to care," she chuckles. "Dragons, Vic. We saw bloody dragons, and you acted like they weren't impressive."

Victoire offers her sister a quick, lazy shrug of her shoulder. The dragons had been interesting enough, but she's grown up seeing pictures of them, receiving dragon themed gifts from her uncle, and she's visited the sanctuary enough to knows what dragons are like. But this is different.

She's always imagined Egypt from her father's stories. Golden sand, orange sun, weathered pyramids. As a child, she always preferred his stories to the fairytales most little girls adored at bedtime. She would fall asleep, imagining that she was in Egypt, exploring beside her father.

But it isn't the adventure that filled her dreams with delight. There's a beast in the desert that's adorable and fascinating, and it's now only a few feet away from where she stands.

"You are aware that there's nothing actually impressive about camels, right?" Dominique asks, adjusting the straps on her backpack.

Victoire doesn't care. Finally, her dream has come true. It doesn't matter how simple or plain camels may. She's always wanted to see one, and now is her chance.

"Do you think Daddy will buy me one as a pet?" she ponders, watching the nearest camel dipping its head down and chewing whatever plant is in its feeder.

Her sister snorts and grips Victoire by the rest, pulling her along. "If he wouldn't get me a dragon, I doubt it."

"Yes, well, he loves me more," Victoire sniffs.

Dominique giggles, lightly nudging Victoire with her shoulder. "Come on. I'll race you," she says.

Victoire grins, sprinting before Dominique can begin the countdown.

"Dad! Vic cheated!"

Her holiday seems to get better with each passing minute.


	36. Kingsley Shacklebolt

_Holmes Mystery: Ministry of Magic_

 _Character Appreciation: an anniversary_

 _Buttons: picture frame_

 _Ami's Audio, American Public Radio: wireless radio_

 _Word Count: 650_

* * *

Kingsley hesitates outside the Ministry, taking a deep breath. It's hard to believe that it's been a year, that 365 days ago, he and so many others were fighting valiantly within a school that had been a second home to countless people. A year. He's lost track of how many funerals he attended, how many grieving families he tried to comfort. The past year has been one great blur of grief, pain, and that slow, ever present optimism that the world will grow, and all the fighting will have been worth it.

He massages his temples, wondering if he's prepared to face the day. Though the worst is far behind them, there is still so much grief and healing. Part of him wishes he could have stayed home today. However, he isn't an Auror anymore; he is the Minister, and he has a responsibility to the magical community.

Somehow, Kingsley finds the strength to hold his head high. So many people rely on him to be a beacon of hope. With that heavy burden upon his shoulders, he forces his feet to carry him forward.

The Atrium is alive with noise. Employees and non-employees alike walk along, pausing to admire the monument by the fountain. Over the past year, loved ones have left picture frames with photographs of their fallen friends and family. Music drifts through the air from the wireless radio—a hopeful little tune the Weird Sisters had put out shortly after the final battle.

Pain is still evident. Not everyone fought, but they all knew someone who had. No one escaped this war without some sort of loss.

"Good morning, Minister," Arthur greets. Somehow, he manages a smile that looks genuine.

"Arthur," Kingsley says with a polite bow of his head. "I thought you and the family would be at Hogwarts."

The other man shrugs, raking his fingers through his thinning ginger hair. "The remembrance ceremony isn't until after lunch. Wanted to… Wanted to keep busy."

Kingsley nods. He understands, of course. Everyone has their own ways of coping, of keeping the memories at bay so that the weight of it all doesn't become too much.

"Right. Better get going," Arthur adds, clapping Kingsley on the back. "Lots to do."

Before Kingsley can wish him well, Arthur is already gone. He sighs and carries on, his eyes scanning over the crowd. Though the Ministry is full, it still seems strange knowing he'll never see some familiar faces again. The pain only increases when he stops by the office for Magical Law Enforcement. Nearly everyone Kingsley had worked with is gone now.

Moody. Amelia. Tonks.

"Minister," Dawlish says, nodding.

"Dawlish."

They don't say anything beyond that. Kingsley hasn't yet convinced Dawlish that it's okay, that he understands the Auror hadn't intended to side with Thicknesse's cruel regime. In the end, his words had fallen on deaf ears.

"I miss her too," Kingsley murmurs instead, nodding to Amelia's photograph, framed in remembrance and honor for all to see.

His old friend's lips twitch. Dawlish offers him a salute before carrying on.

Kingsley hadn't wanted to be Minister. Once the war ended, he waited and waited, knowing someone would surely relieve him of the position. In the end, their eyes were all fixed upon him like he had all the answers. He had resented it then; maybe part of him still does. It is a big responsibility—a responsibility he'd never asked for.

But, now, it's his responsibility. As he makes his way to his office, there's a nagging voice in his head that whispers that he can lock the door and hide away for the day.

But he won't. These are his people. He has fought for them, and he will continue to wage that battle if it means that they can heal.

This isn't a life that he wanted, but it's his, and be will make the most of it.


	37. Molly Weasley

_Character Appreciation: Shell Cottage_

 _Showtime, Fantine's Death: mother_

 _Buttons: ArthurMolly_

 _Word Count: 558_

* * *

Molly feels a flutter of excitement as she and Arthur arrive at Shell Cottage. Bill is waiting for them outside, and he's as restless as she's ever seen him. He paces anxiously, wringing her hands together.

Arthur chuckles. "I remember that feeling," he assures their son, resting a hand on Bill's shoulder. "Terrifying, isn't it?"

Bill nods mutely. His lips quirk into a small smile, and he clears his throat. "Mum, Dad," he manages. "Glad you could be here for this."

Molly pulls her son close, kissing his forehead. "We wouldn't miss this for the world, dear," she reassures him.

From within the cottage, she hears a pained scream and winces. She remembers exactly how it feels to give birth. "Poor dear," she murmurs, shaking her head. "Shouldn't you be in there comforting her?"

Bill grimaces, offering her an almost hesitant shrug of his shoulders. "Dunno. She kept screaming for me to get out. Said I did this to her."

"Your mum said the same thing to me," Arthur muses.

"Yes, but you had the good sense not to listen." Molly fixes her gaze upon her son. "Go to her. This isn't something for her to do alone."

Bill looks almost sheepish now. A dark pink creeps into his cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. He clears his throat awkwardly before hurrying inside, muttering something inaudible under his breath.

"Nerves," Arthur chuckles, a grin pulling at his thin lips. "Never did get easier."

Molly laughs, wrapping an arm around her husband. "I remember. You were as much of a mess when I had Ginny as you were when Bill was born."

He kisses her nose, holding her close. It seems so surreal. Arthur has been by her side for so long. He's been there with her to meet each new child in their lives. Now, they're ready to meet their first grandchild.

She doesn't even realize that she's crying until Arthur brushes away her tears. "I know," he says. "I can't wait either."

…

Molly doesn't know how long they wait. Knowing that her first grandchild will be here any moment makes time seem to drag on. Even a second feels like an eternity.

Finally, after it feels as though years have passed, the midwife comes out, wiping the sweat from her lined forehead. "It's a girl," she announces proudly. "Beautiful, healthy girl."

They're lead inside to the bedroom. Fleur looks exhausted. Her silver-blonde is plastered to her forehead by sweat, and her eyes are heavy. Though her smile is tired, it is still radiant as she looks down at the tiny bundle in her arms.

It feels as though there's no oxygen left in the room; Molly forgets how to breathe when she sees the squirming newborn in Fleur's arms. A tear trickles down her cheek. She wants nothing more than to hold the child, but she knows how important this moment is. This is all about Fleur and…

"What's her name?" Molly asks.

"Victoire," Fleur says, her voice raspy and raw.

"Victoire," Molly echoes. "A perfect name for a perfect little girl."

It still feels like a dream, like there's no way that Victoire is truly here. And yet there is no denying it. The beautiful newborn is there, as clear as day.

Molly doesn't think things could get any better.


	38. Gabrielle Delacour

_Character Appreciation: Veela_

 _Buttons: Gabrielle Delacour_

 _Chocolate Frogs, Newton Scamander: Make a magical creature the main feature of your story_

 _Word Count: 459_

* * *

"Come, my dear," her grandmother says, and Gabrielle quickens her pace.

A bright grin tugs at her lips. Gabrielle can still remember Fleur getting to go with her grandmother to have her wand crafted. She had been so jealous of her sister, so desperate to be old enough for her turn. Now, the moment is finally here, and she feels the flutter of excitement pulse through her veins as she follows the older woman into the want shop.

Her grandmother speaks with the shop owner, but Gabrielle barely hears them. Her bright eyes widen, and she moves along, looking at the finished wands. A moment later, the wandmaker appears before her, studying her careful.

"Trust Anya," her grandmother says. "She has an eye for these things."

" _Oui, Bonne-maman,"_ Gabrielle says as the wandmaker summons a measuring tape and measures her.

It feels unnecessary, but she doesn't protest. If her grandmother says Anya knows what she's doing, Gabrielle will trust her.

The wandmaker nods before disappearing behind the counter, muttering to herself. Gabrielle turns her attention back to her grandmother who stares in the mirror, brushing her fingers through her silvery hair.

"You are part Veela, my darling."

Gabrielle nods. "I know, _Bonne-maman._ "

"Many will think this means that you are just a pretty face," the older woman continues, tipping her head to the side with a faint smile. "You have so much human blood, that it will probably feel more like a curse than a gift."

Gabrielle purses her lips. It does feel like a terrible burden some days. She is not even a teenager, and complete strangers look at her like she's little more than a body they want to claim.

Her grandmother grins, and there's a wicked glint in her pale eyes. Her features flicker, and her mouth and nose elongate, forming a fearsome beak. Gabrielle catches a brief glimpse of her greying feathers before her grandmother's features return to that of an elderly human woman. "Remember, my dear," she says, plucking a few stray hairs and examining them with narrowed eyes, "there is so much more to us than our beauty. We are wild, fierce creatures."

" _Oui,"_ Gabrielle agrees, though she doesn't quite agree. How can she be fierce when she is so small, so delicate?

But her grandmother is built the same way, and only a fool would assume that she is weak. The older woman is a constant reminder that beauty and ferocity can exist with one being.

Anya returns and accepts the hairs before disappearing again.

"My hair will serve as the core of your wand, Gabrielle. Whenever you use it, I want you to remember that you are more than just beautiful. My blood flows in your veins, child. Make me proud."


	39. Griphook

_Holmes Mystery: love letter_

 _Showtime, At the End of the Day: righteous_

 _Chocolate Frogs, Eargit the Ugly: Write about any known goblin_

 _Word Count: 333_

* * *

Griphook scowls as he hobbles along, cursing under his breath in annoyance. He taps his long, dirty nail against the envelope in his hand. It seems quite absurd that a goblin has been reduced to a messenger, as though he's a bloody owl.

And yet the goblin feels obligated to deliver it. He has never been a particularly righteous being, but Griphook knows that he owes Ted Tonks a debt. The brave man had given his life to keep Griphook and the boy human safe. The least he can do is get this letter where it belongs. Now that the war is finally over, he can get this over with and move on with his life.

Andromeda Tonks looks down at him when she answers the door. Her dark eyes widen, and her lips turn downward into a confused frown. "Are you with Gringotts?" she asks. "I haven't bothered with the bank in nearly two decades."

"My name is Griphook," he says before she can blather on about her personal habits. "Your husband and I were on the run together."

Her expression softens. With a barely audible gasp, she rests her hand over her heart. "Ted…"

Griphook fights the urge to roll his eyes. Somehow, he keeps his composure as he reaches up, presenting her with the love letter. "He wrote to you every day," he tells her. "This was the only letter I managed to save."

Tears fall from her eyes. With a loud sniffle, she wipes them away before tucking the letter into her pocket. Once she has composed herself again, she kneels so that their eyes meet. "Thank you," she says, taking his hand and shaking it. "Would you like tea?"

He knows that he should refuse. He had only wanted to deliver the letter and erase his debt. Still, humans so rarely show kindness to goblins. "That would be nice," he decides.

He's never cared much for humans, but perhaps this war has changed things more than he'd realized.


	40. The Fat Lady

_Assignment 11, Arts and Crafts, task 1: Write about a magical portrait or painting._

 _Word Count: 571_

* * *

Being paint on canvas has always been okay. The Fat Lady has enjoyed her leisurely existence gossiping with Violet, flirting with Nick, and watching her beloved Gryffindors grow. For centuries, it has been enough to call her ornate golden frame a home.

Now, the world is in chaos. The Fat Lady runs from frame to frame, watching the horror unfold. "Help them!" she screams, as though the other portraits can find a way to break free from their canvas prisons. "Do something!"

Over the years, she has heard whispers of this war; this battle is inevitable. She has watched her children return night after night, chatting eagerly about their revolution. It had felt like little more than just a game, but it is all too real now.

" _Stupefy_!"

She comes to a stop as she hears that familiar voice. Her sweet boy is barely recognizable now. His once tidy fair hair is shaggy and unruly, there's a hint of stubble on his chin, and his clothes are ripped and dirty. The biggest change is the most painful. Colin has always had a smile on his face and a camera in his hands; now, there is no camera, and his lips are set into a hard line as he waves his wand.

" _Avada Kedavra_!"

The Fat Lady watches as the green light of the Killing Curse strikes Colin's chest. His eyes widen, and he falls to floor amongst the rubble, another casualty of this war.

She doesn't think she can take much more. There are neither blood nor veins in her painted body, but, if she had them, she knows her blood would be boiling. Still, it doesn't matter. There is nothing she can do.

Another student wearing a Hufflepuff tie falls in a burst of green light. The Fat Lady turns and walks away, choking as she listens to the screams and sobs behind her. Her home is falling apart, and she has never felt so helpless. All she can do is return to her frame and remain vigilant until her cubs come home.

…

She doesn't know how long the battle lasts. All she knows is that eventually the screaming fades and is replaced by softer sobs and pleading. There are no more crashes and shrieks in the distance.

Eventually, some of her cubs return. They look at her with tired, heavy eyes as they mumble the password. They look haunted, like they've witnessed hell first-hand. Really, she supposes they have.

"I… Um, I haven't been here all year," comes a voice, and it pulls her back to the present. "I'm not sure what the password is."

Dean Thomas stands before her, covered in dust. Bits of debris cling to his dark, unkempt hair. Despite his exhaustion and the clear battery his body has been through, he wears a small smile.

The Fat Lady beams at him, raising her hand in greeting. "Welcome home," she whispers before clearing her throat and speaking louder. "No password today."

"Thank you," he says as she swings open to allow him inside.

Once he's safe inside the tower, she closes again, sighing heavily. Not all of her children will make it back. Some, like Colin, hadn't been lucky. Some, like Dean, will live on but will carry the burden of war in their hearts until their deaths.

And she will live on as the eternal witness, always reminded of her beautiful, broken little lions.


	41. Percival Dumbledore

_World Cup: Ariana Dumbledore_

 _Hot Air Balloon: Orchideous_

 _Word Count: 599_

* * *

"Where is she?" Percival asks, shrugging off his cloak and tossing it carelessly to the side. Under ordinary circumstances, he would never be so messy. But this is not an ordinary day. "Where is Ariana?"

Kendra reaches stroke his cheek but seems to think better of it; she drops her hand back to her side and exhales deeply. "Perhaps a cup of tea first," she suggests, her voice trembling as badly as her hands.

His blue eyes sweep over his wife. She looks exhausted and terrified, and he wants nothing more than to hold her. But there are more important matters to deal with. "Fix yourself a cup," he says, keeping his voice as gentle as he can. "Where is my daughter?"

"In her room."

Percival nods. Before Kendra can say anything else, he rushes down the hall and hesitates outside her door. The urgent letter still rests in his trouser pocket, and it feels so heavy suddenly. Kendra hadn't told him what to expect, only that Ariana had been badly hurt and for Percival to hurry home.

With trembling hands, he turns the knob and pushes the door open. Aberforth sits on Ariana's bed, holding her hand and making gentle shushing sounds as she whines and writhes. There are mending wounds visible on her body, and dried blood paints pale skin.

"Ariana," Percival whispers, hurrying to his daughter's bedside. He glances briefly at Aberforth. "What happened?"

Ariana cries out, fresh tears streaking her reddened face. Percival can't remember ever seeing her like this—so fragile, so helpless, like even the smallest touch could shatter her—since she had been a baby.

"Muggle boys," Aberforth says grimly. "Th-they saw her… They wanted her to do magic, and she… She wouldn't, and they hurt her!"

"Go help your mother," Percival tells him. "She needs you."

Aberforth looks like he wants to argue, but something in Percival's expression must tell him it would be a bad idea. His jaw snaps shut, and he nods his compliance before leaving.

Percival turns his attention back to Ariana. Tears continue to fall from her eyes, though she is silent now, save for her labored, panicked breathing. "You're safe now, dear," he tells her, reaching out.

Before his fingertips can make contact with her dark hair, she pulls away, shrieking like a banshee. Percival presses a slender finger to his lips, shushing her to no avail. His heart breaks.

He still doesn't know exactly what's happened, only that those boys have broken his beautiful little girl.

Ariana draws her knees to her chest and hugs them close, her eyes wild as she stares at him. He can still see _his_ girl in there. It doesn't matter that it's just a sliver of her, that his daughter will never be right again. She is still there.

His blood seems to boil. He wants nothing more than to hunt those wretched boys down and make them pay for what they've done to her. But first…

He draws his wand, offering her a soft smile. " _Orchideous,"_ he says, producing a bouquet of vibrant blooms. "You always loved that spell. Remember?"

Ariana accepts the flowers, but her expression remains frenzied. Percival sighs.

He will never have his daughter back. Maybe that makes it easier for him to do what he has to do.

"I love you," he says.

Ariana doesn't say it back. Her attention is focused only plucking the petals from the flowers and scattering them on the bed.

Heart breaking, Percival walks away. He cannot fix his daughter, but he make sure those monsters never hurt another magical child.


	42. Charlie Weasley

_Book Club, The Twins: brothers, identity, drunkenly arguing_

 _Showtime, Wait For It: Percy Weasley_

 _Hamilton Mania, immigrating: moving ("I will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love.")_

 _Hard piñata_

 _464 words_

* * *

Charlie doesn't actually intend to drink. In fact, he's reasonably sure that helping someone move is something that should be done sober. But, somehow, it's always easiest to handle Percy with a little alcohol in his system.

He loves Percy, just like he loves the rest of his siblings. Unfortunately, dealing with him for an extended period of time has always been tough.

"Why are you moving anyway?" he asks, pausing to sip his beer. He gestures around at the flat which is nearly bare now. "This looks like a pretty good setup."

At first, his younger brother doesn't answer. Percy lifts his wine glass, taking a deep drink of the pastel rose liquid within. Finally, after several moments, he sighs and shakes his head. "I need something new," he explains. "All I see when I look at this stupid place are my mistakes. That's the fireplace I used to burn Mum's letters. Over there? I used to get drunk because I felt so guilty for mistreating Dad at work. It's become part of my identity… I don't… I can't live here anymore."

Charlie listens, nodding along, unsure what to say. Percy has always been difficult to comfort; he's always closed off and kept to himself, bottling his emotions and escaping into books. This is the first time Charlie has heard him actually open up.

He swallows dryly, fingers curling around a chess piece on the table beside him. He lifts it, examining the knight for a moment. "That's in the past, Perce," he says. "I love you. Everyone loves you. And I will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love."

"What are you even talking about?" Percy downs the last of his wine before setting the glass aside. "A fully… What?"

Charlie grins, sipping the last of his beer and Summoning another. "It's a chess term. Surprised you don't know it."

"That's not a chess term."

"It is."

"Is not."

Charlie pops off the lid of his beer before taking a deep gulp. "Pretty sure it is."

"Pretty sure you're drunk," Percy counters before resuming packing.

…

They stand together in the new flat. Everything has been moved, and all that's left to do is unpack—a task Charlie will leave to one of his other siblings. The two brothers stand in the small living room, the space cramped with countless boxes.

"You know you're forgiven, don't you?" Charlie asks, putting an arm around his brother.

Percy sighs heavily. "Yeah," he mutters. "But I haven't learned to forgive myself yet."

Charlie reaches up and ruffles Percy's hair. "Just don't forget we love you," he says. "And we'll be here when you're ready."

"Thanks, Charlie."

He only hopes that Percy won't hide away, that he knows they'll be waiting for him.


	43. Rodolphus Lestrange

_Hamilton Mania, joining a group: starting Hogwarts (Rodolphus Lestrange)_

 _Character Appreciation: owl_

 _Showtime, Best of Wives, Best of Women: "It's still dark outside."_

 _Balloon Wall: family_

 _Bumper Cars: borrow_

 _Easy piñata_

 _Word Count: 410_

Rodolphus wakes to the sound of his owl screeching. It takes several moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and find the source of the sudden outburst. "Rab," he groans, grabbing a pillow and slinging it in his brothers general direction. "It's still dark outside. Go back to bed."

The eleven year old moves closer instead, climbing into bed with Rodolphus. "I'm scared," he says. "What if they don't put me in Slytherin?"

"You're right. You're useless enough that they might put you in Hufflepuff."

When Rabastan whimpers, Rodolphus deflates slightly. He pats his bed, gesturing for the younger boy to join him.

"Am I useless?" Rabastan asks, and Rodolphus regrets his irritation.

The older reaches out, pulling Rabastan into his arms. "No," he says. "You're the best, and you're going to be a Slytherin."

"What if I'm not?" Rabastan curls up, snuggling against him.

Rodolphus sighs, brushing his fingers through his brother's sleep-tangled hair, snagging slightly against the knots. "You're as Slytherin as they come."

"Can I sleep in here tonight?"

Rodolphus knows he should say no. He's spent years having to watch out for his little brother, always putting Rabastan and his illness first. When Rabastan starts Hogwarts the next day, their dynamics will change. But he can't tell his brother no. All he can do is hold him closer and murmur, "Sweet dreams."

…

Rabastan's lips tug into a nervous smile as Rodolphus helps him load his luggage into the compartment. "Can I borrow you for a bit?" he asks quietly.

Rodolphus bites back a groan. He has his friends to find, and so many things to do. But he nods instead. It will take Rabastan time to make friends and really learn what to do and how to act at Hogwarts. Until then, Rodolphus will happily stay with him.

"Of course," he says, securing their owls' cages. "Anything for my favorite Slytherin."

"I'm not a Slytherin."

"Not yet. But you will be."

…

"Lestrange, Rabastan!"

Rodolphus is on the edge of his seat as his brother makes his way up to the stool. The Sorting Hat falls over his head, obscuring his eyes. There's only a second of silence before it loudly declares, "SLYTHERIN!"

Rabastan grins as he takes the Sorting Hat off and rushes eagerly to join Rodolphus as the Slytherin table. "I did it, Rod! I did it!"

Rodolphus ruffles his brother's hair. "I see that."

And he's never been more proud.


	44. Seamus Finnigan

_Character Appreciation: Dumbledore's Army_

 _Showtime, Guns and Ships: ingenuitive_

 _Lo's Lowdown: friendship_

 _Prompt of the Day: "I regret nothing."_

 _Hamilton Mania, changing careers: Neville Longbottom (Seamus Finnigan)_

 _Word Count: 361_

* * *

"Well?"

The word comes out harsher than he intends it, but Seamus can't be bothered to apologize. It has been nearly a month since most of the newly reformed Dumbledore's Army had to go into hiding, and he's already been stretched thin. He isn't a Healer, and even if he was, he doesn't have the resources he needs to tend to the wounded. He's had to make due, finding out what he can use as alternatives for things they cannot find. It hadn't taken long to discover that the Room of Requirement doesn't perform miracles.

"We've gotten what we could," Neville answers, carefully dumping the contents of the bag onto Seamus' workstation. "I think Slughorn knows what we're doing. He didn't lock his supply cupboard."

Seamus nods, but he isn't really listening. His eyes move over the scarce potion ingredients he's been presented with. It isn't ideal, and, though he will be able to brew some cures and remedies, he will have to continue with his resourcefulness.

A heavy sigh escapes his lips, and he slumps forward slightly. "I regret nothing," he says. "You know that, right? But I'm so damn tired."

Neville rests a hand on his shoulder. "You're doing brilliantly," he assures him. "If you weren't as clever with this as you are, who knows if we'd even be here."

Seamus sighs again. He knows it's supposed to be a reassurance, but it doesn't really help. There will always be apart of him that feels like he isn't doing enough, that his ingenuity only stretches so far and, at the end of the day, he's failed more people than he's helped.

Thinking like that is dangerous; he knows it but can't help it. With the war seeming to be never-ending, it's too easy for him to become discouraged.

"I just want this to be over," Seamus murmured.

"Don't we all?"

Seamus offers him a shaky smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He wants to rage about the injustice, to scream that they're only kids, but he doesn't. His anger wouldn't change anything, only his healing can. It doesn't always seem like it's enough, but he'll have to hope.


	45. Minerva McGonagall

_Showtime, One Last Time: "I don't know what you heard, but whatever it is, [name] started it."_

 _Hamilton Mania, reunion: Professor (broom)_

 _Word Count: 587_

* * *

Finding James Potter is surprisingly simple. Minerva finds him halfway to the castle, soaked and covered in mud, his broomstick slung over his shoulder. As always, his friends are at his side, laughing and praising him for whatever amazing Quidditch feat he's performed in the rain.

"Mister Potter!" she calls. "I would like a word." When Sirius breaks away from the others to join James, Minerva quickly adds, "Alone."

Sirius offers her a sheepish grin and mock salute. "Save you a spot by the fire," he tells James before grabbing his friend's broom and rushing back to the others.

James follows her back to the castle in silence. Minerva thinks this might be the longest he's ever gone without making a sound. It isn't until they reach her office that he breaks the silence.

"I don't know what you heard, but whatever it is, Snape started it," he says quickly.

Minerva raises her brows. "And what is it that Mister Snape is meant to have started?" she asks dryly.

James' cheeks flush a dusty pink, and he shakes his head. "Nothing. I just meant _theoretically,_ of course. You know I would never get involved with such childish behavior."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," she muses, a faint smile tugging at her lips. It's taken years, but she looks at his and his friends' mischief as more endearing than irritating. "Would you like a biscuit, Potter?"

James grins and accepts a biscuit from the tin, biting into it happily. "Ah, I see. Wanted to get me in private so no one knows I'm your favorite student?" he chuckles. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

Minerva pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling deeply. "I wanted to talk to you in private about your last Transfiguration exam."

All humor fades from his features. He finishes off his biscuit and wipes the crumbs off on his still damp shirt. "Ah."

"Ah, indeed," Minerva confirms, a small smile on her lips. "Quite a plunge from your usual grades."

James ruffles his hair. For several seconds, his mouth opens and closes wordlessly, as though a brilliant excuse might force its way from his lips. Finally, he slumps forward, sighing in defeat. "It's Evans, Professor," he explains. "All I can think about is how to get her to notice me."

Minerva is silent at first. In all her years as a professor, she has never had to give anyone advice on such intimate matters. Most people seem to look at her and assume she doesn't know anything about such things. "I assure you, Miss Evans has noticed you," she tells him. "The problem is getting her to actually like you."

The sixth year looks up, hazel eyes wide and curious. "You reckon?" He taps his thumb against his chin, seeming to lose himself in thought. "How do I do that?"

"You're a likable lad, Mister Potter," she says. "But you're much easier to get along with when you don't actually _try_ to impress people."

James jumps to his feet, clapping his hands together. "Professor, I could kiss you!"

"I'd rather you didn't…"

"This is brilliant! Just wait!" With that, he hurries from her office.

Minerva stares after him, amused. It occurs to her that she hadn't had the chance to actually discuss his grades. She shrugs. There's plenty of time for her to do her job and guide him along. For now, she can at least take comfort knowing she's helped him in a different way.

It will have to be enough.


	46. Sirius Black

_Gobstones, bronze stone (freedom): heir, Great Hall, owl_

 _Disney, Uncle Albert: Write about someone with an infectious laugh_

 _Amber's Attic: Write about someone finding their way_

 _Count Your Buttons: luxurious_

 _Lyric Alley: I am who I'm meant to be_

 _Em's Emporium, Shay: Write about an unapologetic Gryffindor_

 _Bex's Bazaar, When I See an Elephant Fly: Write about something unusual happening_

 _Film Festival: hiding_

 _Insane House Challenge: present tense_

 _Word Count: 500_

* * *

When the Sorting Hat screams out that Sirius is a Gryffindor, it feels like a death sentence. For several moments, all he can do is sit on the stool in front of the Great Hall, his heart sinking to his chest.

"You can go now," Professor McGonagall says, though she offers him a kind, understanding smile.

Blacks are not meant to be Gryffindors. To his knowledge, his family has always ended up in Slytherin. "Is it sure?" he asks, swallowing dryly.

McGonagall nods and helps him to his feet. "You can speak to me tomorrow before class, if you need," she assures him.

He nods mutely. Though he would much rather go into hiding than sit at the Gryffindor table, he knows he has no other choice. The Sorting Hat has spoken. Sirius Black, heir of the noble and most ancient House of Black, is a disgrace.

"Why do you look like someone strangled your beloved pet kitten?" James asks when he joins Sirius several minutes later. "Cheer up, mate. You're in the best House there is!"

"My family won't see it that way."

He can already feel his cousins' eyes upon him from the Slytherin table. It's only a matter of time before his parents find out.

…

"Cheer up," James calls when they settle into their dormitory.

"Is something wrong with him?" a scarred boy named Remus asks.

"He doesn't think he should be in Gryffindor," James explains, and Sirius is grateful he doesn't go into detail. "Mate, you're damn sure not a Ravenclaw."

James laughs, and it seems to be catching. Peter joins in, and even Remus, though his laugh is much softer. Sirius can't help himself. The tension in his body seems to melt as a laugh bubbles from his throat.

Maybe this is where he belongs; maybe everything will be okay.

…

"You look happier," James notes as they make their way to the Gryffindor table for breakfast.

"I'm tricking myself into thinking this is some luxurious holiday," Sirius explains, "and that my parents aren't waiting to murder me."

"That's an exaggeration, right?" It's the first time James' smile has faltered, and there's genuine concern in his hazel eyes.

Before Sirius can try to explain, the owls begin to swoop, dropping off letters and parcels. Sirius doesn't expect anything, and he's surprised when a thin envelope drops in front of him, narrowly missing his plate of eggs. Stomach sour and appetite ripped away, he opens it.

There's only one line of nearly written text.

 _Don't bother coming home for Christmas_.

Maybe he should be angry or hurt by it. His family have pushed him away because he's different. But he can't help but smile.

"Everything okay?" James asks, head tipping curiously to the side.

Sirius touches his fingertips to the crimson and gold tie, and he feels a sense of liberation wash over him. He is free from his family's expectations. A new path awaits him, and he can finally be himself.

"Everything is perfect."


	47. Katie Bell

_Character Appreciation: competitive_

 _Disney: friendship: Write about a male and female friendship_

 _Lyric Alley: Look out, cause here I come_

 _Arcade, Kabal: "Let's see what you're made of.", olive green, clenching fists_

 _Auction: "I just want to help. Why won't you let me?"_

 _Homes: "Wonderful. And in case you didn't pick up on it, that was sarcasm."_

 _Word Count: 418_

* * *

"I just want to help!" Oliver insists. "Why won't you let me?"

For a moment, all Katie can do is stare at her best friend, her jaw slack. She waits. Surely Oliver will laugh and tell her he's just kidding. But he doesn't; he stands there, giving her those puppy dog eyes, and she hates him a little bit for it. No one else can guilt her the way he can.

"Oli… You know I adore you," she says, clenching her fists and relaxing them again and again, trying to find the right words. "But have you met you?"

His head tips to the side, brows raising. "I'm not sure that I understand."

Katie exhales heavily, trying not to laugh. She knows he means well, but he really can be a bit clueless sometimes. With a smile, she ruffles his hair. "We can't be in the same room for more than five minutes before we try to compete. Maybe I should work on my training alone."

"But I'm actually a Quidditch player," he reminds her. "I know the training routines."

Something tells her that she's going to regret it, but she just shrugs. "Fine. Tomorrow morning."

…

Katie thinks it should be illegal for anyone to be as bright and cheerful as Oliver is in the mornings. He's there waiting for her on the field. Judging by the hint of sweat staining his olive green shirt, he's already gotten a workout in.

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. It really isn't surprising. Oliver has to be the best. Even friendly gestures turn into competitions.

"You're here!" he calls brightly. "Come on. Let's see what you're made of. Now, I like to start things off with a nice jog around the pitch."

Katie grimaces, taking in the sheer size of it. Flying is one thing, but jogging… She'd rather not. "Wonderful. And in case you didn't pick up on it, that was sarcasm."

Oliver shrugs. "Fine. Straight to the air, then."

…

It goes exactly as expected.

Oliver manages to behave for the first twenty minutes. And then it changes. He looks at Katie like a rivalry, and their friendship seems to fade.

He pushes himself, staying ahead of her. She realizes she doesn't mind, though. It just makes her want to do even better.

He is still the best coach there is, and she hopes the world is ready for her.

…

"Well?" Oliver says when Katie meets him for lunch after her try-out.

Katie grins. "You're looking at the newest Chaser for Falmouth."


	48. Pansy Parkinson

_Disney, happiness: Write about someone depending on others to make them happy_

 _Lyric Alley: I've learned to be ashamed of my scars_

 _Sophie's Shelf: DeanPansy_

 _Arcade, Kano: angry, red eye, good girl/bad boy (or vice versa)_

 _Lowdown, Reid: an outcast who finds home_

 _Film Festival: betrayal_

 _Auction: catastrophic_

 _Word Count: 467_

* * *

No one has forgotten her betrayal. It seems to hang in the air, following Pansy wherever she goes.

She has never been one to feel ashamed, but how can she not? All of her faults are laid bare for everyone to see. She is drowning, overwhelmed, and there's no real way out.

She gives in to her anger, lashing out and screaming, but it doesn't do her any good. They still whisper, and she is still an outcast.

…

Her reputation is already shattered, so she stops caring.

…

Theo is the first. He smiles at her, she forgets that she is hated. He makes her feel like she is wanted as they fall into bed. Each touch is enough to drown out the rest of the world.

He's gone before morning, and she doesn't know how to capture that happiness again.

…

Goyle doesn't make her feel the way Theo had, but he's a distraction. She pours herself drink after drink, telling herself it will be okay.

It's like another high. He adores her and worships every inch of her. Maybe they could even have something.

But she sabotages any hope and walks away, looking for that next great thrill.

…

Marcus Flint is gorgeous. Ron Weasley is surprisingly fun. Terry Boot is sweet and nervous.

They all become blurred faces, each one blending into the next. She's still searching for that forever sort of happiness, but no one seems to be able to give it to her.

…

"Are you okay?"

Her eyes are red and swollen, and she wishes Dean Thomas hadn't found her. She scowls at her drink before downing it, letting the alcohol burn its way through her. "Catastrophic," she answers. "But great."

"I don't think you're catastrophic."

Pansy laughs. Dean has always been too sweet, too good. She wonders how can see the good in people like her. All she sees is the wreck that she has become.

"Come on," he says. "I'll walk you home."

…

When they reach her flat, she expects him to try something. No one just walks her home out of the goodness of their heart.

But maybe he does.

"Take care," he says.

"Stay? Please?"

…

Dean sleeps on the couch. Pansy insists that he can share her bed, but he is a gentleman.

She can't remember the last time anyone cared for her like this.

…

He makes her happy. It's a different kind of happiness than she's felt before, but it just works. Somehow, he stays by her side while she works on herself, while she learns to love herself.

"Why are you so good to me?" she asks one evening when Dean comes home with Chinese takeaway.

He just smiles and kisses her, and she feels like everything is falling into place.


	49. Arthur Weasley

_Auction: Sugar Quill_

 _Character Appreciation: estranged son_

 _Lyric Alley: When the sharpest words want to cut me down_

 _Arcade: indigo, "I had no choice.", betrayal_

 _Word Count: 527_

* * *

Molly tells him again and again that sweets are bad for him. She reminds him that they'll rot his teeth and make him crazy.

Arthur doesn't care right now. He nibbles at the sugar quill, letting the sweetness keep him in the moment. Maybe he shouldn't be so nervous. It's just Percy, after all.

But this means everything to him.

After the reunion before the battle, he had been so sure that things would go back to normal, that Percy would come home and be their son again. In the end, losing Fred had been too much. Percy had run away again.

Arthur winces, remembering the harsh words exchanged. He knows Percy had just been pushing them away, trying to ease his own guilt, but those words still cut deep.

He shakes his head. That is over now. His son's betrayal is a thing of the past, and there's no need to hold on to it. They're moving forward, and he knows that everything will be okay in the end.

"Dad?"

Arthur looks up, thin lips tugging into a broad grin when he sees his son. Percy stands there awkwardly, tugging anxiously at the collar of his indigo shirt. For several moments, neither of them speak. Arthur still remembers when the silences between them had been comfortable, natural things. Now, he can feel the tension between them.

It's a painful reminder of how much has changed between them.

But things are still changing. Maybe it's only baby steps, and there's still a long way to go before they can get back to the way things once were, but it's progress.

"I had no choice," Percy whispers, breaking the painful silence. He hesitates, shaking his head. "No… That's not quite true." He sighs, pushing a hand through his curls. "I… I screwed up so bad."

"Doesn't matter," Arthur says gently. "You're still family."

More silence. Arthur's posture stiffens. He can't imagine what's going through his son's mind right now, but he wants to take the pain and confusion sway from him; he just doesn't know how.

He knows that Percy blames himself for Fred's death. No amount of comfort and reassurance can change his mind, and Arthur hates it. They've already lost one son, and he is so scared they're going to lose Percy too.

"We love you," Arthur says, his voice cracking with emotion. "Just…"

Percy closes the distance between them, pulling Arthur into a hug. At first, there is silence, but it's broken by a sudden sob.

"I want to come," Percy whispers, and his words tremble. He sniffles, pulling back and removing his glasses so that he can wipe his eyes. "I just… How do I live with the shame, Dad? After everything I've done…"

Arthur rests a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. "We want you to come home," he says. "There is nothing to forgive, Percy."

With another sniffle, Percy nods, though he still looks uncertain. Arthur knows it won't be easy. His son has his own demons to fight, and Arthur isn't able to make it better.

But it's okay. Percy takes his hand, and Arthur knows that healing can finally begin.


	50. Draco Malfoy

" _When you came into the world you cried_

 _And it broke my heart."_

 _-Dear Theodosia_

* * *

Draco can hardly believe it's over. Astoria still trembles, and tears streak her reddened face, but she is smiling through the pain. He doesn't have a chance to check on his wife.

The midwife holds his son in her arms. A moment of tense silence passes, followed by a soft cry. Draco rushes forward, eyes wide. "What have you done to him?" he demands, panic saturating his usually calm tone. "Why is he crying like that?"

He knows that babies are meant to cry; it's completely natural. But not his baby, not his perfect son. The sound is too much, and he thinks his heart might shatter within his chest.

"It's okay, Mister Malfoy," she assures him. "Hold him, please. I need to tend to your wife."

Draco has prepared for this. Astoria had insisted he practice with lifelike dolls until he was comfortable. Somehow, it isn't enough. Scorpius isn't a doll; he is a living, breathing baby, and Draco is well aware of how fragile the tiny, squirming bundle is.

Beneath the panic and fear, there is something else. Pride isn't quite the word he's looking for, but he thinks it must come close. "My son," he whispers, marvelling at the perfect fingers and perfect blond hair. "Look at you…"

He swallows dryly. This feels like a dream, like nothing around him is real. He is finally a father, and the thought, in and of itself, is absolutely terrifying. His father hadn't been around for him, and, whenever he was, he had always been so cold, so detached. Part of Draco is afraid that he cannot break the cycle, that he will find a way to fail Scorpius too.

"I won't let that happen," he says.

His son just squirms and cries, and Draco's heart continues to break. Draco takes a deep breath. He doesn't know how to be a father, but he's ready to learn.


	51. Piers Polkiss

_Feline, Norwegian Forest: Write about friends_

 _Supernatural, werewolf: Write something set during a full moon_

 _Word Count: 421_

* * *

"Scared, Piersy?" Malcolm asks as the group approach the dilapidated house.

Piers rolls his eyes. "What's there to be scared of?"

But as he looks around at his friends, he knows they're all scared of the same thing. They all know the legends of Old Man Robert. The fact that the moon is full in the sky only adds to the atmosphere and makes things infinitely more terrifying.

"We… We don't have to go," Dennis says, shuffling his feet nervously, trembling fingers pushing through his messy hair. "It's not… I'm not going."

"Me neither," Malcolm agrees.

Piers turns his dark eyes to Dudley, waiting for his best friend to make his decision. Dudley is clearly nervous—any sensible fellow would be. His face scrunches up in thought; Piers taps his foot impatiently.

Finally, Dudley nods. "Sod these chickens," he says. "Let's go."

Piers grins. That's one good thing about Dudley. It doesn't matter how scared he may be, he will never show it. Dudley is a proper leader through and through.

Still grinning, Piers grabs his torch from his bag and shines them beam. "Let's go."

"Hey, Piers, if you die, can I have your skateboard?" Malcolm asks.

With a roll of his eyes, Piers turns his back on the other two. It doesn't matter if they're too scared to do this. He has Dudley by his side, and nothing can touch him.

…

"That was… disappointing," Pier decides when they reach the living room again.

The tour of the house hadn't proven successful. Piers had hoped for even one little glimpse of s ghost. Instead, the most shocking thing they had found was a rat's skeleton in the middle of the kitchen.

Dudley peers out the window. Piers follows his gaze. Malcolm and Dennis are still out there, both looking completely uncomfortable.

"Wanna have some fun?" Dudley asks.

Piers raises his brows. "How?"

Dudley's lips pull into a broad grin. "It _is_ a full moon," he points out. "Maybe Old Man Robert has some pet werewolves in the basement."

Piers mirrors his grin. It's ridiculous, but it makes sense to him. They may as well find some way to entertain themselves.

He curves his hands around his mouth to throw his voice, and then he howls. Dudley join him, their combined noise loud and eerie.

The effect is instantaneous. Malcolm and Dennis exchange frightened glances. They don't even wait around. The two boys take of running, disappearing in seconds.

"Disloyal bastards," Dudley muses.

Piers shrugs. "At least we have each other."


	52. Sybill Trelawney

_Marauders Map: Minerva, Sybill_

 _Lizzy's Loft: Write about a good friend_

 _Showtime, To Life: prosperity_

 _Emporium: illness_

 _Piñata, easy_

 _Word Count: 500_

* * *

Sybill is surprised when Minerva asks to meet her in the Three Broomsticks. During their many Hogsmeade visits together, her beloved friend has always preferred the warm, quiet tea shop over the pub. Still, she doesn't mind. Maybe Minerva's time as headmistress has finally gotten to her, and she needs a strong drink.

Rosmerta smiles and calls out a greeting whenever Sybill enters. Sybill waves to the barmaid before fixing her attention on the pub. It takes her only a few seconds to spot Monerva in the corner, sipping a glass of wine.

"Mead, Rosmerta, dear," Sybill requests, setting the coins on the table before crossing the pub and sitting across from her friend.

Minerva offers her a smile. "You're late," she says.

Sybill frowns. Is it just her imagination, or does Minerva's voice sound weaker than usual? She shakes her head. "I had a few matters to tend to before I could get here. How are you?"

Even as the question leaves her lips, Sybill can guess the answer. Though Minerva still looks very much the same, there's a different energy radiating from her being. Her aura isn't quite as bright, and the colors seem to shift uncertainly.

Rosmerta brings Sybill her mead. "To the continued prosperity of Hogwarts," the Seer says, lifting her glass before sipping the honeyed drink.

Minerva doesn't speak until they are alone again. She leans in, dark eyes sweeping over the pub quickly before focusing on Sybill. "There's no easy way to say this, dear friend," she sighs. "I'm dying."

The words seem to punch Sybill in the gut. She takes a deep breath, leaning back as she tries to make sense of Minerva's words.

 _Dying._

It's impossible. Minerva is so vibrant, so alive. She's meant to outlive Death himself.

And yet it makes sense. The sudden pub visit, the change in her aura, the subtle way her voice seems to break with each word. Even the great and powerful Minerva McGonagall will die.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

The older woman shakes her head. "The illness spreads quickly," she explains. "I only have days left."

"Minerva…"

Minerva takes a deep breath before offering Sybill a shaky smile. "I'm not afraid of dying. It's the next great adventure," she says. "I will be reunited with so many people that I love."

It's such a beautiful way to look at it, and it provides Sybill some comfort. But not enough. Nothing can ease the pain of knowing that she will lose her beloved friend. Though Sybill is no stranger to loss, she knows that it never gets easier, and the pain will never leave her.

"My only concern," Minerva continues, "is that I don't want to be alone when it happens. It's selfish of me to ask, but–"

"I will stay with you," Sybill tells her.

Maybe she can't do anything to take away Minerva's pain or restore her health, but Sybill can bring her comfort. It will have to be enough.


	53. Molly Weasley II

_Word Count: 517_

* * *

Molly wishes she could make the guilt go away. She isn't a mean person. All her life, she's prided herself on treating everyone fairly; her parents had been shocked when she hadn't been Sorted into Hufflepuff.

But she had been so cruel without even meaning to. Now, the words echo in her head, and her stomach twists itself into painful knots.

" _I don't know why we hang out with you anymore."_

Hugo had looked so hurt, and she can hardly blame her. As kids, he had followed her around, determined to make Molly his best friend. It had been sweet. They'd gotten along well enough that Molly hadn't even hesitated to agree when Hugo had asked her to get a flat with him. They'd had some sort of secret cousin alliance, and now she's ruined it.

Except she refuses to accept that. She stands over the stove, watching the eggs sizzle before gripping the silver spatula and easing it underneath. Molly has taken after Grandma Weasley in many respects, but she hasn't inherited her grandmother's love of cooking. Still, she knows her way around the kitchen, and now she has sausages, eggs, and waffles cooking and filling the flat with a mouthwatering aroma.

"Oh."

Hugo barely looks at her before making his way to the table and grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl.

"Come on, Hu," Molly says, offering him a bright smile. "I'm making breakfast."

Her cousin shakes his head before biting into the apple. "Maybe you should invite the people you hang out with," he says between bites.

Molly winces. She knows she deserves the backlash, but it still hurts. "Don't be like that," she says.

" _Why can't you just be normal for once?"_

Hugo shakes his head. "I don't know how else to be. I'm me, and I thought you accepted that," he says bitterly. "Do you know how much it hurt to hear you say that?"

Really, she can't imagine. Molly has always been the golden girl. The thought of anyone saying something like that to her…

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Sorry doesn't fix a damn thing," Hugo says. "You don't get to apologize and expect everything to be perfect."

Molly sighs, flipping the eggs before they can stick. "I don't," she agrees. "An apology won't change what I said to you. But I do mean it. I love you, and I screwed up. I don't even have an excuse, but it wouldn't matter if I did. I was wrong, and I hope you can find a way to forgive me."

For several moments, silence hangs between them. Molly turns her attention back to cooking. Really, she's grateful for the distraction, but she still feels so antsy as she waits.

She lifts the skillet and tips the eggs onto a plate before adding the sausage and waffles. "I made you breakfast," she says, taking the plate to her cousin.

Hugo smiles softly. "You must feel bad if you're actually cooking for me," he laughs.

It's the first hint of hope, and Molly finds herself smiling. Maybe things can be salvaged after all.


	54. Teddy Lupin

_Bucket List: melt_

 _Disney, Chip: Teddy Lupin_

 _Crafty Corner, Twix: biscuits_

 _Book Club, Nobody: graveyard, Harry, "But you'll always be here, [Name], won't you?"_

 _Showtime, Goodbye Love: graveyard_

 _Buttons: freezing_

 _Lyric Alley: When you're not here_

 _Emporium: bought_

 _Word Count: 391_

* * *

" _But you'll always be here, Harry, won't you?" Teddy asks._

 _Harry doesn't answer. Teddy doesn't understand why his smile looks so sad as they walk through the graveyard together after visiting Teddy's parents._

..

Teddy hates graveyards and funerals and anything dealing with death. It seems that he's spent so much time there in his youth. The fact that he's freezing only makes it worse.

The snow crunches beneath his feet, immediately turning into a gross slush mixed with mud. Once, Teddy liked the snow. But he doesn't really like anything today.

..

" _I bought you something."_

 _Harry holds up the black jacket, and Teddy squeals happily, rushing forward. His godfather helps him into it._

" _Do you mind, Andi? It's a good day for a stroll."_

 _Teddy's grandmother shakes her head. "Just bring him back before dinner."_

 _Teddy grins. He loves it when his grandmother lets him play in the snow. He reaches out and takes Harry's hand, positively beaming as Harry leads him out._

" _Catch a snowflake on your tongue," Harry suggests._

 _Teddy does. The flake melts, and he giggles._

..

He doesn't want to be here. If he could, he would have stayed home, safe and sound under his blankets.

But he owes it to Harry. After everything his godfather has done, the least Teddy can do now is say goodbye.

Victoire appears at his side, offering him a small smile. "How are you holding up?" she asks, slipping her hand into his.

Teddy's lips twitch, but he can't bring himself to smile. "Been better."

..

" _How do I tell her that I fancy her?" Teddy asks._

 _Harry chuckles and pushes the biscuit tin toward him. Teddy accepts a ginger biscuit and nibbles it._

" _I had trouble with that too," Harry tells him._

 _Teddy snorts, eyes rolling. Harry has it all. He's seen the way his godfather acts with Ginny, and he knows there's no way Harry could be awkward like Teddy._

" _It's true." Harry laughs. "My first girlfriend… Merlin, that was awkward."_

 _.._

Teddy kneels in front of the grave. He doesn't care that the snow freezes him to the bone. "Thanks for everything, Harry," he whispers.

It's still hard to believe that his godfather is gone. Maybe it will never feel real.

But the winter seems a little colder today, and he thinks it's because Harry has taken the sunshine with him.


	55. Lily Evans

_Book Club, Mrs. Owens: "Aren't you meant to be studying?", singing, dress_

 _Showtime, Tune Up 1: "Are you ready?"_

 _Advent: Lily and Petunia_

 _Christmas Market: putting on makeup_

 _Present Wrapping: "I can't do this."_

 _Snowman, stone eyes: Petunia Evans_

 _Word Count: 470_

* * *

Lily is surprised to hear the sound of singing drifting through the house. She pauses, setting her quill aside and listening. A small smile tugs at her lips. It's been so long since she's heard Petunia sing.

Unable to resist, she abandons her essay. There will be plenty of time for Charms during the winter break. She walks, carefully and quietly down the hall until she reaches the bathroom. The door is open, and she watches as Petunia pauses in her singing to apply a soft pink lipstick.

"You look lovely," Lily says.

The moment seems to be ruined within seconds. Petunia sets the tube of lipstick aside and turns to Lily with narrowed eyes. "Aren't you meant to be studying?" she asks. "I'm sure you have an important test on how to be a freak."

Her words don't hurt Lily the way they used to. Only a fool would pretend that there's any hope in salvaging their relationship. And yet she still hopes.

Lily shrugs. "I was only saying you looked nice," she says. "Vernon is a lucky man."

With that, she turns on her heel. Before she can take a step, however, Petunia groans. "Wait! I… I need your help."

It's been so long since Petunia has needed her. Lily turns again, smiling. "What can I do?"

…

It's just like old times. For one beautiful moment, Lily forgets that there's any hostility between them at all as she carefully styles her sister's hair.

"What's so important about this date?" Lily asks as she secures a blonde curl with a bobby pin.

Petunia's cheeks glow with a warm, rosy blush. She smooths her hands over her yellow dress. "I think Vernon is going to propose," she answers.

Lily's mouth opens slightly. It's easy to forget that her sister isn't affected by the war, that she can have some semblance of peace. "That's a big step," she says. "Are you ready?"

Petunia takes a deep breath and turns around. She's trembling slightly, and her shaky smile fades. "I can't do this." She exhales heavily and scrubs her palms over her face. "I just… What do I do?"

"Do you love him?"

Petunia nods. "So much," she confirms.

Lily wraps her arms around her sister and presses a kiss to Petunia's cheek. "Then that's what matters," she says. "As long as you're happy, and he treats you well…"

A small smile tugs at the older girl's lips. She nods again. "I can do this."

As Lily watches her sister walk away, she feels her heart break. This is the closest they've been in so long, and she knows it is only temporary. In the morning, Petunia will fall back into her old routine of pretending Lily doesn't exist.

It doesn't matter. Now, in this moment, she has her sister back.


	56. Fleur Delacour

_Word Count:473_

* * *

It's a beautiful, windy afternoon. Fleur kicks off her boots and tosses them aside, grinning as she digs her toes in the sand. It seems like it's been an eternity since the family has gotten together on beach, and she relishes the noise and chaos that unfolds around.

"Mum! Louis stole my Frisbee!" Dominique screams. Before Victorie can say anything to her son, Domonique and Louis take off running, kicking up sand as they go.

"Kids," Bill snorts, falling into place beside her. He looks quite handsome with his periwinkle swim shorts and fishing net. "Don't you wish they would remain that young and rambunctious forever?"

Fleur narrows her eyes at him. "Yes. I do love having endless headaches."

Her husband winks and nudges her gently with his shoulder. "Mum and Dad just arrived. Dad has rented some fancy Muggle boat. You coming out with us?"

She shakes her head. She will never understand the appeal of fishing, but Bill, Arthur, and Percy seem to fish a way to bond over it. Whatever works for them.

She carries on her trek across the shore. Teddy and Victoire hide under the shade of the nearest tree, attached at the hip. It's sweet to see them so young and in love, but Fleur _does_ wish that didn't mean Teddy's lips would be permanently attached to her daughter's.

"I'm just saying," Teddy says between kisses. "We are the quintessential couple. Childhood sweethearts, and all that."

"Break it up, you two!" Fleur calls.

Victoire's pale cheeks flush a deep red. "Mum, you're so embarrassing!" she squeals, and she only moves closer to Teddy.

Maybe Fleur should give up hope on those two ever staying apart for more than a few minutes. At least Teddy is a good boy, and she knows that her daughter will be safe with him.

She makes her way to the chairs on the shore. Molly sits in one. Her bare feet are dipped in the water, and she wear a small smile. Fleur sits beside her, ducking her head against the wind.

"I think I finally understand why you are always so happy," Fleur says.

Molly looks up. Her red curls fly in the wind and whip her face. "Oh?"

Fleur looks around her. Louis and Dominique are still bickering and fussing, trying so desperately to best one another. In the distance, she sees Bill toss the net out as Arthur casts a line with his pole. Teddy and Victoire have found a new hiding place, and their hands are clasped together, and they look so happy together.

This is her peace. There's so much chaos and craziness, but she has never felt more content, like she couldn't even dream of asking for more.

"It's all about satisfaction," Fleur says.

And she smiles, because she has found the secret of the universe.


	57. Harry Potter

_Word Count: 806_

* * *

Harry can barely think straight when he returns to the Aurors' office. His mind races, and acidic guilt burns his insides. Everyone makes mistakes; it's part of life. Still, it isn't every day that someone makes a mistake like this.

He should have been more careful. If he hadn't been so quick to fire a spell at the dark witch, the little Muggle girl might not have gotten hurt. She had been so small, and the miscast Stunning Spell had hit her so hard that she had been thrown backwards, and her head had cracked against the cobblestone.

Harry blinks rapidly, trying to keep the image of blonde hair, saturated with blood from his mind. It doesn't help. The image has haunted him for the past hour, and he can't seem to shake it.

"Potter!" Urquhart calls, burdened with a heavy stack of files so high that Harry could only see his dull brown eyes. "Minister Shacklebolt wants to see you."

Harry swallows dryly. Of course, he's known it would come to this. He's already spoken to the Head of his department. It isn't surprising that a mishap this big would make its way up to Kingsley.

"Now," Urquhart adds, voice sharp like he actually has some authority and does something other than paperwork.

With a mock salute, Harry makes his way out of the office.

…

He feels like a kid again as he approaches Kingsley's office. How times has he appeared before Dumbledore or McGonagall, absolutely terrified of what would come of it? A wave of nausea hits. He would much rather be a dumb kid at Hogwarts, caught out of bed and faced with detention than be where he is right now.

Harry lifts his hand to knock, but the door opens by itself. "You wanted to see me?" Harry calls, hesitant to enter the office without a proper invitation.

Kingsley glances up from his parchment and sets his quill aside. "Harry, come in," he says, and his deep, calm voice shows no sign of anger or disappointment.

Harry obeys and takes a seat, nervously drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair. The silence that hangs between them is tense and maddening, but Harry doesn't dare to break it. Instead, he just shuffles and fidgets while Kingsley watches.

Finally, the older man sighs. "I heard you had a bad day."

 _Bad day._ Harry doesn't think that quite covers it. A bad day is spilling hot coffee on yourself or twisting your ankle. Nearly killing an innocent child? That goes beyond having a bad day.

"You aren't the only who has made mistakes," Kingsley says. "I regret to tell you that you aren't special there."

Harry can't help it; he laughs. There's something about Kingsley that makes it so easy to relax around him.

"I screwed up," Harry says. "That little girl…"

"She will live," Kingsley assures him. "Don't worry."

Harry scowls at that. How can he not worry? After everything that's happened, he thinks worrying sounds like a perfectly logical course of action.

"How do you do it?" Harry asks. "You were an amazing Auror. I mean… look at you! You were perfect."

Kingsley laughs and shakes his head. "Age is a hell of a price to pay for wisdom," he says. "You never saw me when I was a new recruit. I got better with time because sometimes hindsight is the best teacher."

Harry can't imagine that. He's seen Kingsley in action before and has always been amazed by the way Kingsley holds himself in battle. Is it really possible that there had been a time when he had been less than fantastic?

"I know it may seem hard right now," Kingsley says, drawing Harry from his thoughts, "but you're young, and you're still learning. I promise it won't always be like this."

"It feels like it."

Kingsley offers him a kind smile. "I know. The guilt and anger are still fresh, and they will cloud your vision," he says. "Don't let it. Just let go, and trust in yourself."

Harry clears his throat, adjusting his tie anxiously. "I'm not… I'm not fired?" he asks.

"Of course not," Kingsley says. "If we fired everyone for making perfectly fixable mistakes, there wouldn't be anyone left at the Ministry."

Harry considers this. He nods. "I guess you're right." He climbs to his feet. "Thanks, Kingsley."

The Minister nods, still smiling kindly at him. "You're going to do great things, Harry," he says. "I have so much faith in you."

And just like that, all the tension fades away, and Harry feels a rush of hope flood through him. Others have told him that they believe in him, but so many of them had had selfish, ulterior motives. Not Kingsley. There is only truth and kindness, and it's enough to make Harry believe.


	58. James Potter II

_Word Count: 558_

* * *

"You ready?" his dad asks.

James clears his throat, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot. Today is the day Hogwarts students are expected to shadow adults in their workplace. Most people opt to follow their parents around, so it seems like a logical assumption that he would do the same.

"Sorry, Dad. I actually made plans with Uncle Ron. It's just going to be you and Al," James says.

"Plans with… Ron?"

James shrugs. Really, it shouldn't be a surprise. Uncle Ron embodies the best of both worlds. Not only does he currently run a joke shop with Uncle Fred, but he used to be an Auror. James has always looked up to his uncle, and now is his chance to spend time with him outside of family events where James is always forced to play with his cousins and siblings.

"No hard feelings, right?"

His dad shakes his head. "Hard feelings?" he echoes. "Of course not! As long as you're happy, I'm happy."

This is all James needs. He's practically giddy as he rushes forward, pulling his dad into a tight hug. "Thanks, Dad."

…

James has been in the joke shop more times than he can count, but this feels different. He isn't just a customer or a family member; he is his uncle's shadow, and he can barely contain his excitement.

"Androgyny suits you, James," Uncle Ron teases, affectionately ruffling James' shaggy hair.

"I look _cool_ ," James says with a roll of his eyes.

"The coolest," his uncle agrees, grinning as he digs into his pocket and retrieves a Chocolate Frog. "Enjoy. Good, nutritional breakfast."

James' eyes widen widen as he excitedly peels away the foil. His parents would _never_ let him have chocolate this early in the morning. "Thanks, Uncle Ron!"

"You'll need your strength to help sort through all the products."

…

Sorting through everything in back should be a dreadful chore, but James loves it. These are things still in the works, things no one else knows about. There's sapphire necktie that stains the wearer's shirt, a bouquet of white flowers that look absolutely beautiful but, after a few hours of being in water begin to smell like rotten fish, chocolate bees that sting the tongue.

This is heaven for him! Sure, the Auror's office could have been fun; Al is probably asking their dad a million questions right now and feeling like a kid in Honeydukes. But this shop, surrounded by so many tricks and jokes, is all James could ever want.

…

"Would it hurt you feelings if I didn't become an Auror?" James asks as he and his dad tend to the garden the next morning.

"Of course it wouldn't," his dad assures him. "I want you to figure your own life out."

Relief washes over him. "I think I might do like Uncle George and Uncle Ron," James says. "I'll open my own shop and have chocolate for breakfast every morning."

"That last part is bad for your teeth," his dad laughs. "Just because you're fourteen doesn't mean you can neglect your hygiene." He pauses to wipe sweat from his brow. "Other than that, I like it. As far as role models go, your uncles are good ones."

James just grins. He's never realized how lucky he is to have so much support in his life.


End file.
